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AN INTRODUCTION 



TO 



SYSTEMATIC PHILOSOPHY 



BY 



WALTER T. MARVIN, Ph.D. 

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY, WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY 




THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, Agents 

LONDON; MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1903 



All rights reserved 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JUN 15 1903 

Copyright Entry 

-CLASS tt' XXc No 

COPY B. 



'V 



\ 



^^ 



'??% 



Copyright, 1903, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up, electrotyped, and published May, 1903. 




NortooolJ 33rcs0 

J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smitli Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



TO 

TO WHOSE INSTRUCTION AND GUIDANCE 

I OWE MY EIRST KNOWLEDGE OF PHILOSOPHY 

NICHOLAS MURRAY BUTLER 

BENNO ERDMANN 

JAMES HERVEY HYSLOP 

THIS BOOK 

IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED 



PREFACE 

There are two things that this book is not. First, it 
is not an historical introduction to philosophy. I have 
dealt only in a few cases with the history of the problems 
under consideration, but have generally given only brief 
notes and a few references to guide the student should 
he desire to devote some time to looking up historical 
matters. Secondly, it is not a handbook of philosophy. 
It does not give pro and con all the various doctrines held 
by the great philosophical writers of the past and the 
leading writers of the present. It does not give an ex- 
haustive bibliography under the different headings, but 
mentions as a rule only those books with whose titles the 
beginner should get acquainted and in which he will find 
the best introduction to a further and profounder treat- 
ment of the problem in hand. 

But what is the book ? It is an attempt to state and 
explain the chief problems of philosophy as problems 
actually existing to-day, and to give such solution of 
these as the author is able to give. In fact, its chief 
value seems to me to lie in the selection and in the order 
of the problems with which it deals. The instructor who 
uses the book for his classes may easily select those chap- 
ters which he wishes to omit and those which he desires 
to emphasize. I strongly urge the beginner and the gen- 
eral reader to omit for the first reading the following 
chapters: V, VII, X, XII, XIII, XX, XXX, XXXI, 
XXXIII, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, LVII, and LVIII. By 
so doing the book will gain in interest and the main 
argument will not be seriously disturbed. 



Viii PREFACE 

I am quite aware that the book has many faults, but 
my excuse for publishing it now is, first, the belief that it 
is an approach toward what an introduction to philosophy 
should be, and, secondly, the desire to learn through it 
how to write a better introduction some time in the 
future, especially in case a second edition is called for. 
Doubtless, the reader will find inconsistencies; but in- 
consistency between the solutions of different problems 
does not seem to me a fatal fault, for I believe that we 
philosophers should profit by following the example of 
natural science and devoting ourselves chiefly to separate 
problems and their solution, even if we have to set aside 
for the time being the making of a system. Hence I 
have tried to present a series of problems and their solu- 
tions rather than a completed philosophical system. In 
this presentation there is, of course, a system, or general 
doctrine, in the background, and a word should be said 
about it. 

If I have understood Professor Miinsterberg aright in 
the first chapter of his " Psychology and Life," I agree 
with every statement that he there makes. My termi- 
nology is different, but my general views are the same. 
I should call the main doctrine of my book a rationalistic 
idealism. By idealism I mean the doctrine that denies 
the existence of a transcendent world, and that, therefore, 
limits all problems to the world of experience. By 
rationalism I mean that our attempt to interpret the 
world must presuppose premises or a ijriori truths about 
the world. Against naturalism I maintain that man's 
ideals can rightly lay claim to the same validity as does 
his science ; and in behalf of naturalism I attempt to 
justify the atomic mechanical interpretation of nature 
and indirectly of mind. 

The book presupposes on the part of the reader a 
general knowledge of natural science, psychology, and 
formal logic. 



PEEFACE ix 

Next a word about its use for classes. It is not in- 
tended to be exactly a text-book. Rather it is to furnisb 
the student with a problem and with enough information 
about the problem for him to take an active part in a 
discussion in class. The instructor will doubtless disa- 
gree with much that I have said, and will wish to impart 
to his students his own views and his objections to mine. 
My expectation is that he will do so, and that the book 
will be merely a help to prepare the student for this. In 
short, the ideal introductory course in systematic philoso- 
phy seems to me to be not a lecture course nor a series of 
recitations, but a critical and systematized discussion, — 
a Socratic discussion if you will. 

I hope that all these remarks about college matters will 
not discourage the general reader by making him think 
that the book is not intended for him as well. 

Finally, I wish to express my heartfelt thanks to my 
colleagues, = Professor H. A. Aikins and Dr. W. D. Briggs, 
for numerous and most helpful suggestions and correc- 
tions in the course of final revision. 



WALTER T. MARVIN. 



Cleveland, Ohio, 
April 21, 1903. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 

I. Philosophy and the Philosopher 



PAGE 
1 



PART I 



METAPHYSICS 



I. THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE 

II. The Infinite Diversity of Things, Qualities, and Rela- 
tions in Nature 15 

in. The Gradation of Things, Qualities, and Relations in 

Respect to their Universality and Permanence . . 27 

IV. The Primary and Secondary Qualities .... 38 

V. Things and their Qualities : Substance ... 57 

VI. The Atomic Theory 64 

Vn. Motion 79 

VIII. The Conservation of Mass and Motion .... 85 

IX. The Mechanical Theory 94 

X. Space and Time 99 

XI. The World's Infinity 104 

XII. Mathematics and Abstract Mechanics as A Priori 

Sciences 107 

Appendix : Note on the Nature of Probability . .116 

Xin. A Critique of Natural Science 120 



II. THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND 

XIV. The Distinction between Mental States and Material 

Things 125 

XV. The Existence of Other Minds than Ours . . .134 

XVI. Immortality 139 

XVII. Mental Causation and Conservation .... 151 



Xll 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

XVIII. The Freedom of the Will 162 

XIX. The Soul and Personal Identity .... 164 

XX. A Critique of Psychology 174 

III. ONTOLOGY 

XXI. Introductory 178 

XXII. Materialism 184 

XXIII. Spiritualism 195 

XXIV. Dualism 208 

XXV. The Problem of Substance 210 

IV. COSMOLOGY 

XXVI. Introductory 217 

XXVII. Pluralism 235 

XXVIII. Singularism 255 

XXIX. The Principle of Causation 264 

XXX. The Causal Relation between Mind and Body . 274 

XXXI. Panpsychism 280 

V. COSMOGONY 

XXXII. Creation 291 

XXXIII. The Doctrine and Principles of Evolution . . 303 

XXXIV. Teleology 320 

XXXV. Conclusion 329 



PART II 



THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE 
I. THE NATURE OF KNOWLEDGE 



XXXVI. Introductory 

XXXVII. The Elements of Knowledge . 

XXXVIII. The Given, or The Object of Knowledge 

XXXIX. The Given, or The World of Facts 

XL. Knowledge and the Principles of Knowledge 



337 
344 

349 
364 
374 



CONTENTS xiii 



II. THE VALIDITY OF KNOWLEDGE 

CUAPTBR PAGE 

XLI. The Relativity and Infinitude of Knowledge and its 

Validity 382 

XLII. The Transcendent Element in Knowledge and its 

Validity 390 

IIL THE WORLD AS PRESUPPOSED BY 
KNOWLEDGE 

XLIII. The Premises of Knowledge, or Rationalism vs. 

Empiricism . 395 

XLIV. The Transcendent World, or Realism vs. Idealism . 403 
XLV. The Determination of the Given . . . .412 

XLVI. The Principles of Reality 420 

XLVn. The Principles of Reality (conc/MC?ec?) . . . 429 

IV. THE MANIFOLD INTERPRETATION OF 
THE WORLD 

XLVm. The Real and the Ideal 439 



PART III 

THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION 

XLIX. The Nature and Principles of Religion . . . 451 

L. The Problems of Death, Evil, and Sin . . . 467 

LI. A. Critique of Religion 478 

PART IV 

THEORETICAL ETHICS 

LH. The Nature of the Good , 489 

Lin. Moral Responsibility 502 

PART V 

ESTHETICS 
LIV. The Nature of the Beautiful 511 



xiv CONTENTS 

PART VI 

PHILOSOPHY AS A SCIENCE 

OHAPTEB 

LV. The Definition and Scope of Philosophy 

LVI. The Division of Philosophy 

LVII. The Historical Development of Philosophy 

LVIII. The Method of Philosophy .... 

LIX. The Meaning and Value of Philosophy 



521 
534 
538 

548 
551 



APPENDIX I 
A Scheme of the History of Philosophy 565 

APPENDIX n 

A Bibliography of Books especially referred to for Parallel 
Reading 568 

Index 569 



AN INTEODUCTION 

TO 

SYSTEMATIC PHILOSOPHY 



is a love for 
the truth. 



mTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

CHAPTER I 

PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 

What is Philosophy, and who is the Philosopher ? 
Philosophy is an enthusiasm, a love for the truth ; and the Philosophy 
Philosopher is he whose life and thought are controlled 
b}^ this mightiest of loves. Truth is his mistress ; and to 
be faithful to her in thought, in word, and in deed, is the 
devotion that alone seems to him meet and right. He is 
a lover of the Truth ; but what is Truth ? It is the old, 
old question, and its answer might well be called also the 
old, old answer. For more than a score of centuries, from 
the days when Greek civilization had reached manhood, 
on through the ten centuries of its prime, old age, and 
dotage, through the centuries, when under the influence of 
Greek thought the dogmas of the Catholic Church were 
formulating, on through the Middle Ages and the Renas- 
cence, down to and through the days of modern thought 
and civilization to our own time, this question has been 
ever before the mind of Europe's spiritual leaders ; yes, to 
answer it her greatest minds have lived, and proved them- 
selves willing to suffer, and even to die. 

Now what has been this answer of the ages ? It is con- 
tained in one word. Truth is Consistency. He that makes And Truth 
it a chief aim of his life in thought^ in word., and in deed, 
to he consistent, he is a philosopher ; and the endeavor to 
bring consistency into the life and thought of the civilization 
of the day, this endeavor is philosophy. 



means Cou- 
sistency. 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This ex- 
plains why 
Philosophy 
is misunder- 
stood and 
seems to 
lack prog- 
ress. 



Here we have at once the explanation why the philoso- 
pher has been so widely misunderstood in our own day. 
You and I live in a time when the discovery of new facts 
and of new laws of nature and of mind is praised and hon- 
ored, in a time that has little patience with a study not 
giving man directly new means of overcoming life's ob- 
stacles and of winning life's allies. This is the work of 
science. Science to-day is hailed as chief and conqueror ; 
but philosophy is looked upon as a feeble, dotard tribesman, 
living over from generations now passed away. Our 
charity and reverence for old age may permit it to remain 
still among us ; but who looks to it for aught that is 
useful or aught that will help, truly help, the march of 
progress ? 

Progress means the gaining of new information about 
the facts of the world in which we live. Progress means 
the application of this information to subduing nature to 
our service. We have not time to sit down to ask our- 
selves whether all that we are doing, all that we are learn- 
ing, is consistent, the new with the old, or the one part 
with the other. We must be up and doing. The world 
will not stand still for us. What if here and there we are 
inconsistent? Results are what we seek, and results are 
what we can show. Behold how we have increased the 
security of life against disease, against starvation, against 
hostile peoples. See the luxury and comfort now possible 
to the day laborer, and the raised standard of living every- 
where among us. Mark the means of easy transit from 
one end of our earth to the other, and the wide and rapid 
intercommunication between man and man now estab- 
lished the Avhole world over. Behold the teeming popu- 
lation in countries but recently unable to support a tenth 
of the men they now comfortably clothe and feed. Look 
at our great cities, where but recently was wilderness. 
And last but not least, if you desire spiritual progress, see 
the truths that our empirical sciences have won for us. 



PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 



where a century ago all was ignorance, superstition, or the 
mere blind following of worthless tradition. 

Such has been and often is still the talk in vogue. It is 
the talk of the hysterical enthusiast. It is such, because 
no sane man even dreams of disputing the truth of a word 
that is there said. It is such, because no .sane man can 
help but be in general as well informed as the one that 
makes the outcry. It is such, because the very progress 
to which so much praise is given results from an applica- 
tion of the philosopher's principle, ,consistency ; without 
which science could never have existed. Who but the 
man that cannot see, fails to .apprehend one of the chief 
causes, over and above the mere information science has 
given us, of the material progress of our day ? Can we 
point to a mightier power for wealth and progress than 
social and industrial organization? 

Were the nations not mighty peoples but petty and hos- 
tile tribes, were industrial and commercial corporations 
no longer here, but in their stead only the little shop, 
the merchant .single-handed, and the lonely pack-carrier, 
where then were our boasted wealth and luxury, what 
then would it serve us though we knew twixje the laws of 
nature, and twice the means of subduing them that we 
now know? But what is organization? Is it mother than 
a means to be consistent? Is it aught but an instrument 
to bring each individual and his life into, harmony with all 
the rest of his fellow-men and with their lives ? 

Ah, if that be so, then there is a twofold work to be 
done in this world of ours. It is not he alone that dis- 
covers new truths and shows us how we may .bridle the 
forces of nature, important, most important though his 
work is, it is not he alone that -achieves the results we call 
progress. There is another who works hand in hand with 
him, and without whom the world would fare ilL There 
is the great social and industrial organizer. There is the 
man that sees where two forces that should be friendly, 



Reply to 
this Misun- 
derstanding. 
Progress has 
two Factors, 
and one of 
these is 
Organiza- 
tion. 



Organiza- 
tion, and 
therefore 
Progress, 
means Con- 
sistency, or 
Harmony ; 
and the Har- 
monizer is, 
as such, the 
Philosopher. 



4 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

are conflicting, and the one destroying the results of the 
other. He marks the contradiction that exists, and en- 
deavors to learn and to appl}^ the deeper principle that will 
harmonize them. His motto is, " For we are members one 
of another." He knows that two elements enter into every 
movement, — the propelling force and the repelling one. 
No matter how great the former may be, the latter may 
easily make it of no avail. True progress must, then, be 
a twofold one ; and they that work for man's advancement 
must engage in this double labor. There are those who 
give their lives to accumulate the forces of propulsion, 
but those lives are no less useful which are given to re- 
moving the repelling forces. Now where there are many 
workers it may easily be that men themselves, in their 
aims and in their labor, may so act that one destroys what 
the other would accomplish ; that one is to the other as a 
repelling force. What, then, is to happen ? No one man 
is so powerful that he can subdue all that are in his way; 
no one man can have the world to himself. Life is, and 
must be, a movement against resisting forces. There is, 
then, but one thing to be done. Harmful, needless, profit- 
less resistance must be done away; and this is the work 
of the philosopher, to harmonize, to make consistent the 
lives of fellow-men whether it be in their thoughts or in 
their words or in their deeds. No matter where, conflict 
must give place to peace. We maj^, then, call the philoso- 
pher the world's peacemaker: and we may judge him that 
brings peace out of discord a philosopher, no matter where 
his work may be ; no matter whether it be in the organiza- 
tion of industry or commerce, in the settlement of strife 
between capital and labor, in the making of treaties be- 
tween nations ; or, whether it be in removing the con- 
flict between scientific theories and between religion and 
science, or in overcoming the struggle between the body 
and the spirit, — the warfare between things material and 
things spiritual for the mastery over man; or, finally, 



PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 5 

whether it be in the revealing to our minds the unity of 
the individual and the world to which he belongs, — the 
unity of the finite and the infinite. No matter where we 
meet it, the work of harmonizing discord and contra- 
diction will belong to the man that is at bottom philosoph- 
ically minded. 

But, as has been implied all along, the organizer is 
only supplementing the work of another. The mind that 
finds new facts and the mind that reconciles the old and 
the new are complementary. Often in the history of 
civilization we have had men that united in the one mind 
a mighty power for both forms of labor; and, doubtless, 
no--man is so one-sided that he is wholly devoted to the 
one or the other. Such great men were in days gone by 
an Aristotle, a St. Paul, a Descartes, a Leibniz, a New- 
ton, a Franklin, and, in our own days, a Helmholtz, a 
Darwin, a Mill, a Lotze, a Huxley, and tens of others 
that might just as rightly be named. 

Let us look somewhat more at the details of the philoso- 
pher's calling. Clearly he must be judicially minded. 
His work as reconciler demands that he understand both The Pecu- 
sides of the controversy, and that he do justice to both; j^f^Q'^i?-**^ 
otherwise he would establish a peace that were no true He is a 
peace. His work, as compared with the explorer's, the r^tbe/than 
inventor's, the discoverer's, is at home, whereas theirs is an Ob- 
out in the field. They must be trained to observation, he ^^^^^' 
must be trained to reflection. They are great observers, 
he is a great thinker. In fact, it has often been his stay- 
at-home life that has caused him to be so misjudged and 
ill spoken of. He seems to be weaving all out of his 
"inner consciousness." He does not seem to be a lover 
of facts and of deeds. He is rather a lover of solitude and 
of quiet, of repose and of meditation. No wonder the 
nineteenth century misunderstands him! 

But to turn from the man to his work. Of course, from 
our discussion, it follows that his work is everywhere, — 



6 



INTEODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Nar- 
rower Field 
ol Phi- 
losophy. It 
seeks to har- 
mouize the 
universal, 
or most 
general 
conflicts. 



Philosophy 
in the 
narrower 
sense. 
Meaning 
of the 
term, "the 
Truth," in 
tlie original 
definition. 



in the struggles with self, in the farail}-, the state, the 
church, in commerce and industry, in science and religion, 
and in morality and art. We would have the reader not 
forget that to be a peacemaker, or harmonizer, no matter 
where, is to have the spirit of the philosopher, and to be 
one indeed. But the work of philosophy, in the more 
general and historic use of the term, is in a narrower field 
than everywhere. In the traditional and narroiver sense 
of the ivord philosoijhy is the study of the fiaidamental prob- 
lems before the human mind and the endeavor to bring an 
ultimate harmony into all human thought and action. The 
conflicts it would harmonize are the universal ones ; and 
the students in our schools and colleges who would study 
philosophy are not to expect in their courses in that sub- 
ject to deal with all manner of human discords. Philoso- 
phy in the broader sense may be studied in almost every 
course, or even lecture, throughout a college or university 
career, as it may also be studied in every department of 
life's work. But philosophy in the narrower sense is the 
subject of the present book, and it is to this we must in- 
troduce the reader. 

What is philosophy? We defined it as an enthusiasm 
for the Truth, and at once asked. What is truth? Two 
possible meanings of the word have been implied in what 
has already been said; and we may now denote this two- 
fold meaning by adopting the distinction between "a 
truth," or "truths," and "the truth." There were, as we 
saw, two great works for our minds to do : first, to discover 
the new, and, secondly, to organize or assimilate the new 
with the old, or to systematize each part with every other 
part. To do the former work we must collect new facts, 
and interpret these new facts either through our knowledge 
of the old or through some new thought of a creative as 
opposed to a merely traditional thinker. Such new knowl- 
edge we call a discovery. It is "a new truth." But 
"the truth" has quite a different meaning. The truth 



PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 7 

refers to that complete body of knowledge that includes in it The Truth 

all truths., — all truths oraayiized into one great system. It '^*^'*^ 

'^ 1/ t/ comijlete 

is the difference between the scattered parts of a dead system of 
body on the dissecting table and those parts united in the [ruth^'^"^^ 
living organism, each part where it belongs, each part 
ministering to every other part, and all together forming 
a unity whose life and meaning can be thought of as one. 
Thus, the truth means all individual truths united into 
one all-including system. 

But if this be the truth, how can we ever attain to it? 
To construct such an all-including system would require 
that we have all truths in our possession; but this we 
shall never have, for as long as rational beings exist 
new facts will be revealing themselves and demanding 
to be interpreted and to have this interpretation, or new 
truth, brought into harmony with old truths and the old 
with it. The truth then is not something we now pos- 
sess, or ever will possess; nay, rather, we never shall 
possess it; but it is an ideal toward which the reason 
of man is ever striving, — an ideal we can realize only 
in part, yet realize more and more as our knowledge 
progresses. The truth is only an ideal. But mark what The Truth 
this implies. It does tell us that we have not attained ^® therefore 

^ . only an 

the truth, but it also tells us that we have a partial ideal. 
idea, a notion, a mental picture of that which we are 
striving to realize. We may not know the truth; for 
did we, we should have already fulfilled our ideal. Yet 
we do know enough about it and its nature to search 
for it intelligently; for did we not know this, how could 
"we seek it? When you or I hunt for this or that object, 
it may well be that we know little about the object; still, 
we must know something, otherwise we should not know 
where to search nor should we know the object when we 
had found it. 

Now, ultimately, every rational mind is a seeker after 
the truth: and if this be so, we must all have some faint 



8' 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOrilY 



The two- 
fold impli- 
cation of 
this Ideal 
and hence 
the two- 
fold work 
of Philos- 
ophy, 
(a) Gain- 
ing a more 
perfect view 
of our Ideal, 
the Truth. 
{b) Real- 
izing our 
Ideal, by the 
Organ- 
ization of 
Truths. 



Philosophy 
needs for 
its work 
the truths 
gaiaed by 
Science : 



picture of that which we seek so that we may recognize it 
when we find it; otherwise, our task were hopeless. 

Notice now what we have been saying. The seeker 
after the trutli has a twofold work to do. He must have 
an idea, or mental picture, of that for which he searches. 
He must be able to recognize truth when he finds it. He 
must have before him, air castle though it be, an image of 
the ideal called the truth. On the other hand, merely to 
have the ideal, and yet in no way to realize it, were little 
indeed, and quite profitless. Therefore he must strive to 
realize it, and in part succeed, ere he be worthy of the 
name, a seeker after the truth. But to realize it we have 
found to mean the organizing of truths into an organic 
whole, or system. The seeker after the truth must do 
this also. Hence, if we define philosophy as the search 
for the truth, we see at once that philosophy's work must 
be twofold: first, there is the ivorking out of that ideal, or 
mental jncture, those marks or C7'iteria, those characteristics 
or descriptions of the truth which will enable us to guide our 
search intelligently and to recognize the truth and to hasten 
the dag of its com2:>lete realization ; secondlg, there is the 
organization of truths into a sgstem, or the complete uni- 
fication of our knowledge. In its broader sense philosophy 
includes both. Many have restricted its meaning solely 
to this latter work ; but a moment's thought must show 
that no man can find an object, or realize an ideal, unless 
he has some notion of that for which he searches or some 
picture of that ideal unto which he would attain. 

The second task, or work of systematizing, is clearly 
but complementary to the work of those who discover 
new truths. Clearly, the philosopher could never sys- 
tematize truths he does not possess, and, therefore, 
without the discoverer of new truths his very task must 
be hopeless. 

No amount of mere thinking could possibly give these 
new truths. We must search for the facts. He that 



PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 9 

would discover gold must go out into the wide world and 
dig for it. He that stays at home and spends his days in 
idle dreams of the gold he would discover, will never be 
more than a poor and worthless idler. No, the philosopher 
needs the discoverer of truths as much, and even more, 
than that one needs the philosopher. Our greatest ruler 
or industrial organizer needs the farmer, the weaver, the 
coal-miner, and the woodsman. Without them he him- 
self would starve, and his government and organization 
become a mere powerless dream. As all our civilization 
is built upon the labor of those who wrest from the soil 
its potential wealth, so, also, must all philosophy be 
built upon the truths the discoverers win for us. That 
philosopher wdio is false to this truth is as blind and as 
great a fool as that capitalist who forgets his dependence 
upon the lowliest laborers of field, forest, and mine. 
Nothing could be so untrue to philosophy herself as that 
widespread notion that the philosopher cares for none of 
these things, but weaves the truth out of his inner self, 
as a spider weaves its web. This view is utterly false, 
and they that continue to cry it forth from the housetops 
show a disgraceful ignorance and an unbounded assurance. 

But where there is smoke one may justly expect to find 
fire. It is true that the philosopher's work is reflection. 
It is true that by thinking he wins that organization of 
truths we call "the truth." But even more than this. 
We found his work to be twofold. He was to construct 
for us the ideal Ave try to realize ; and this work of neces- 
sity must be done from within. It is the product of 
thought. 

Look the wide world over, where could we ever find the And nec- 
ideal of truth? The truth is not something that exists rtifS-s'^from 
here or there as a fact beside other facts. It is, as we Science by 
have seen, an ideal, a something that we strive to bring reflective, 
into existence, but yet something unto which our finite 
minds can never attain. If this ideal is to be formed, 



10 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Scope 
of the 
present 
book : 
Philosophy 
in the nar- 
rowest 
sense. 



how and whence is it to come ? Surely only from within 
us. It is an ideal; an ideal of whom? Of our reason, of 
our soul as a seeker after the truth. It does not grow on 
trees, nor is it deep down buried within the earth. No 
telescope will find it in the heavens, nor will any micro- 
scope reveal it to us in the thinnest of sections ever 
mounted on a glass slide. The ideal comes from within. 
It is the ideal of our reason, and to our reason we shall 
have to go if we are ever to behold it. Surely if we are 
to hunt for anything, why not where there is hope for find- 
inCT it? Is this not scientific? Is this not rather common 
sense? Away, then, with that dogmatic foolish blindness 
that bids us hunt the wide world over for that which exists, 
and can exist, only within us. The philosopher looking 
within is just as truly a discoverer as is, and just as truly 
goes back to the sole source of information as does any 
natural scientist hunting the world over for his facts. 

The work of philosophy we have now seen to be two- 
fold, the formation of an ideal and the organization of 
special truths in accord with this ideal. The first task, 
the formation of our ideal, requires that we reflect over 
the work already accomplished by science, and push on, 
by means of further reflection, to a more perfect and con- 
sistent vision of that ideal than the scientist, merely as 
such, has attained. 

In the chapters to which this is introductor}-, we shall 
try to do, in a general way, this second work of philoso- 
phy. We shall try, by reflection, to learn something 
about those characteristics and marks of the truth presup- 
posed in our very search for it. We are thus, in our book, 
using the term philosophy in its narrowest signification. 
Almost all scientists, even professionally, are philosophers 
in the broader sense that includes both tasks. But phi- 
losophy, as part of a college curriculum, is largely, if not 
entirely, devoted to the narrower problem. It is that 
narrower problem to which this book would introduce the 



PHILOSOPHY AND THE PHILOSOPHER 11 

reader. We shall reflect about all general fields of human 
knowledge, we shall try to find out their ideals, seek for 
any inconsistencies in these ideals, and try thus to gain 
a picture of the truth as a whole, but only in as far as it 
is a mere ideal, and not a realized fact in the minds of 
men. If ^ve did the latter, we should have to try to unify 
all that science has taught the world in the way of truth ; 
in short, tell the complete story of the world as far as that 
story has been worked out by man. This we shall not do. 
Philosophy for us will be that narrow^er problem, the at- 
tempt of man to work out a picture of that ideal which the 
seeker after the truth tries to realize. We shall begin by 
reflecting upon nature, or the world about us, and the 
interpretation of it thus far won by man. Then we shall 
turn to study similarly the mind, or the world within us. 
Next we shall study the world as a whole, and after that 
the very attempt, as such, to know the world. Then we 
shall go on to a short study of other fields of truth besides 
those of science, — the truths of religion, of morality, and 
of art. 

Now reflection is hard work, and he that would philoso- 
phize must be patient. But the more we do philosophize, 
as the more we do any work, the more habituated we 
become to it, and thus the easier and more interesting it 
becomes. 



PAET ONE 
METAPHYSICS 

(The AYorld of Science) 

1. Philosophy of Nature 3. Ontology 

2. Philosophy of Mind 4. Cosmology 

5. Cosmogony 



I. THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE ^ 



CHAPTER H 



THE INFINITE DIVERSITY OP THINGS, QUALITIES, AND 
RELATIONS IN NATURE 

How different the world would seem to each one of us 
could we but recall fully, and for the moment accept, the 
ideas, the thoughts, and the fancies of our childhood's days. 
How small that world must have been when compared 
with the picture of our sidereal system that the study of 
astronomy gives to-day. How strange it seemed to some 
of us, who can recall those thoughts, to hear that our earth 
is round like a ball, and that the little tv.inkling stars 
above are great bodies, bigger than our own mother earth, 
that away down below lies the land of China, that the 
great ocean on whose shore we dug in the sand stretches 
on and on for thousands and thousands of miles. Our 

1 (1) Literature : 3Ietaphysics. 

The student desiring to commence seriously the study of Metaphysics 
is advised to read carefully Lotze's Metaphysics. Tliough it is rather 
difficult reading, this work is one of the best, if not the best, in all recent 
philosophical literature. 

Hermann Lotze, Metaphysik. 2d ed. Leipzig, 1884 (English translation 
edited by B. Bosanquet. 2 vols. 2d ed. Oxford, 1887). 

A study of the history of the general problems of Metaphysics is also 
quite important. The chief metaphysical v\'riters in Modern Philosophy 
are Des Cartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, and Kant. 

In part this knowledge must be gotten from their writings. Selections 
of Des Cartes and Spinoza's writings as well as those of Locke, Berkeley, 
Hume, and Kant exist in English. Series of Modern Philosophers edited 
by E. H. Sneath (Henry Holt & Co.) : (1) Des Cartes by H. A. P. Torrey ; 
(2) Spinoza by G. S. Eullerton. For the others, cf. note to Chapter 
XXXVL 

For the History of Modern Philosophy, cf. note to Chapter LVII. 

15 



l.The 
Growth of 
the World 
as pictured 
and inter- 
preted by 
our minds. 
The World 
of our 
Childhood. 



16 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

first lessons in geography — perhaps they were the conversa- 
tions of parents — began to open to our minds tlie thoughts 
of other hinds than ours; and maybe the strange people 
on the street pointed out to us by them gave us our first 
thoughts of nations whose looks and costumes were so 
strangle and different from our own. Before that time 
what a little world must have been ours ! It was bounded 
by what our eyes had seen, as we played or walked about 
in the district of our home; and up above the sky, the 
sun, the moon, and the stars were not very far away. 
The population of our world was not very much greater 
than our own immediate experience showed to us. Our 
own ancestry went back perhaps to our great-grand- 
parents, or hardly so far. A dawning faint idea that some 
day we should be great men or women like our parents 
had come to us perhaps by this time ; but that life was 
only a brief span, and that some day our parents would be 
gathered unto the fathers, extending backward generation 
after generation, and we, too, in turn, — ^how far were 
such thoughts from our minds ! 

Little by little the direct experience of different phases 
of life, of people, and of material things kept adding now 
this, now that element to our world; and our teachers, 

Other general references are : — ■ 

B. P. Bowne, Metaphysics. 

F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality. 2d ed. 1897. 

O. Liebmann, Zur Analysis der Wirklichkeit. 3d ed. Strassburg, 1900. 

J. S. Mackenzie, Outlines of Metaphysics. London, 1902. 

F. Paulsen, Introduction to Philosophy, transl. by Frank Thilly. 2d ed. 
(Henry Holt & Co., New York). A. Riehl, Der philosophische Kriti- 
cismus und seine Bedeutung fiir d. positive Wissenschaft. 2 vols. 
Leipzig. 1876-87. 

H. Rickert, Die Grenzen der naturwissenschaftlichen Begriffsbildung. 

John Watson, An Outline of Philosophy. 2d ed. Glasgow and New 
York, 1898. 

James AVard, Naturalism and Agnosticism. 2 vols. New York and Lon- 
don, 1899. 

Wilhelra Wundt, System der Philosophie. 2d ed. Leipzig, 1897. By 
same author, Einleitung in die Philosophie. Leipzig, 1901. 



INFINITE DIVERSITY OF THINGS IN NATURE 17 

both by word of mouth and by picture-books and the like, 
kept increasing still more rapidly the size of our child- 
hood's universe. We began to gain a knowledge of our 
earth as a great sphere, of the vast areas of land and water 
that form its surface, of the many nations and races that 
people it, of the great changes time has brought about in 
the history of Europe and America. Still all this re- 
mained very crude; and to be frank, how crude it has 
ever remained in the thoughts of most of us! We can 
look over a map and talk glibly of a thousand miles. 
But what a difference between the thousand miles of walk- 
ing or stage-coaching or sailing and the thousand miles 
you or I travel by railroad or ocean steamer. How dif- 
ferent are the size of our earth and the multitude of its 
peoples, to the long and thorough traveller, from what they 
are to us that stay most of our days at home. So, like- 
wise, the lessons in astronomy and physical geography 
modified enormously the thoughts of childhood. There 
arose a faint idea, for most of us still a very faint idea, of 
the immensity of our solar system and of the ages counted 
in units of a million of years during which terrestrial 
changes have been taking place. But here, again, how 

(2) Literature : FhilosopJuj of Nature, 
Lotze, Metaphysic, Book II, Cosmology. 

W. K. Clifford, Lectures and Essays. 2d ed, London and New York, 
1886. (New edition. 2 vols. 1901.) 

E. Von Hartmann, Die Weltanschauung der modernen Physik. Leipzig, 

1902. 
K. Kroman, Unsere Naturerkenntniss. 1883. 

Wilhelm Ostwald, Vorlesungen iiber Naturphilosophie. Leipzig, 1902. 
Karl Pearson, The Grammar of Science. 2d ed. London, 1900. 
Herbert Spencer, First Principles. 

F. Schultze, Philosophic der Naturwissenschaft. 2 vols. 1881-82. 
Stallo, Concepts and Theories of Modern Physics. 2d ed. New York, 1884. 
Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism. 

John Watson, Outline of Philosophy. 
Wundt, System der Philosophic. 

William Whewell, Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences. London, 1840. 
c 



18 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOI'IIY 



The uni- 
verse of 
childhood 
similar to 
that of 
primitive 
man and 
also to that 
of daily life. 



easy to speak of millions of miles or millions of years; 
and how hard to picture such units adequately. If a day, 
a week, or a month seem to the hopeful and expectant a long 
time to wait, what must we say of such ages as geology 
records ? If the tedious walk from village to villagfe con- 
sumes a day, what of the distance from the earth to the sun ? 
What merest fragments are even the best and greatest en- 
deavors to picture such immensities! But in time our 
teachers had to tell us that these ages and these distances 
are but perhaps infinitesimal points in the countless ages of 
sidereal evolution and dissolution, and in the endless sj)aces 
involved in a space whose bounds are unthinkable. 

As biology teaches that the growth of each one of us, 
from the egg to the adult form, is a rough recapitulation 
of the development of our race from the lower and indeed the 
lowest forms of life ; so also does history in like manner show 
us that these, our conceptions of the world from those of 
childhood to those we get from the world's greatest minds, 
are no more than a similar recapitulation of the thoughts 
of primitive men gradually expanding and modified into 
the tenets of twentieth century science. Once upon a 
time the adult thought of, and believed in, a world no 
bigger, no more multiform and richer in content, than that 
of the young child to-day. Strange to say, a few centuries 
would bring us to the days when to men's minds the earth 
was not round nor so large, when they thought the sky 
and the heavenly bodies revolved about it and not at so 
great a distance, and when even the great universe itself 
seemed comfortably small. How easy is it even for us to 
lapse back in careless or thoughtless moments to mental 
imagery quite as vague and quite as imperfect as that of 
our forefathers of the Middle Ages. The practical needs 
of daily life require no such stretching of the imagination 
as does the endeavor to picture to ourselves the truths of 
science. Therefore for us the vaguest mental imagery of 
the vastness of our universe not only suffices, but actually 



INFINITE DIVERSITY OF THINGS IN NATURE 19 

becomes the usual form of our thought. Still, when we 
are serious and the interest in such deep questions holds 
our minds, how vast is the change in our beliefs and in 
our thoughts that these last centuries have wrought. To 
come to know such a world of time and of space as science 
and exploration have revealed, meant not only a change 
in a few thoughts, but a revolution in almost all our 
thoughts; yes, and even more than this, for a revolution 
in thoughts means a revolution in conduct, in the home, 
in the shop, and in the state. Here, in conduct, new 
thought must struggle for its existence and win or lose its 
permanent hold on man's mind. 

However, we are now concerned with the revolution in The change 
thought itself. To have such a new image of the world *° ^^^ Y^^' 

° ^ ^ '^ verse of 

meant a change in beliefs very dear to the heart of man Modern 
and very ancient in his history. This change could not ^*^^^^^®- 
take place in a day and could not win its acceptance with- 
out an intense struggle, even to the bringing upon its 
missionaries all the wrath of their fellow-men and of 
their established institutions, the church and the state. 
Such a change meant the modification of every dogma, 
religious and political, and, in time, social and industrial. 
The church, the hierarchy, the saints, the angels, the 
spirits and demons, heaven and hell, and, finally, God, 
as pictured by men, had to be modified; and a new and 
higher conception of the Creator and the created take 
their place. The governments that for a time fulfilled a 
province's or a nation's needs became too petty for the 
expanding industrial and social life of the people. Thus, 
from the thirteenth century to our own day, revolution 
after revolution marks the progress in thought, in science, 
in religion, in government, in industry, and, in short, 
wherever our attention turns. But the story of how the 
world has come to be to our mind so vastly greater, is 
only half the story of the change in our mental representa- 
tion of it. 



20 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



2. The 
World of 
Modern 
Science. 



The World 
of the 
iufiuitely 
great and 
of the infi- 
nitely small. 



As we ordinarily look at the objects about us or think of 
them, they are for us, and remain for us, sucli as they 
then appear; but later, when science has carefully in- 
formed us of their hidden nature, and we have understood 
her message, a great change must take place. What a 
different object a little j^iece of animal tissue or a particle 
of a leaf appears wlien there comes to the assistance of 
the unaided eye a focussed microscope. What before was 
a mere speck, hardly big enough to be seen at all, has now 
become a highly complex group of little cells. The body, 
whose exterior we know so well, has to be reconstructed 
for us by microscopic study into an infinitely more com- 
plex and Avonderful system. Yet, even here, we have to 
feel that science has made but a beginning. The object 
that we magnify several hundred diameters, we have to 
think of as admitting a much greater enlargement could 
we but find means to produce it. At each new step perhaps 
a greater and greater complication and variety of parts 
wait to be revealed to us, until, finally, our effort to imag- 
ine the object has to cease through complete inability to 
picture aught further. Seemingly our intellect, if not our 
imagination, permits us to grant the possibility of an in- 
definite enlargement. The little particle of skin that 
looks so complex under even a glass of low power, might be 
enlarged on and on until it would appear as big as a moun- 
tain, or as the earth, or as the solar system; yes, on as 
far as we will. Would each such imaginary enlargement 
reveal to us new complication and variety of parts, as does 
that magnifying we are able to accomplish ? At least, such 
an assertion has to be admitted by our intellects as that of 
a possibility, and, maybe, even a probabilit}^ A proba- 
bility it Avould be, because already two sciences inform us 
about the hidden nature of such exceedingly small parti- 
cles, vastly beyond what the most powerful microscope 
can show. Chemistry tells us of the so-called chemical 
atoms that compose this piece of- tissue or this particle of 



INFINITE DIVERSITY OF THINGS IN NATURE 21 

rock; and these atoms, with their way of working, although 
in some respects so well known to us, seem almost infi- 
nitely smaller than the objects of the microscope. But 
there is still a world beyond. May there not be, as specu- 
lation in physics leads us to expect, a whole world of 
objects entering into the composition of each one of these 
atoms. Then, again, those vast spaces surrounding our 
earth on all sides are believed to contain means by which 
the light and heat from the heavenly bodies are carried 
to us. These means of transport are a world of particles 
vastly smaller than any atom of which our chemistry 
teaches us. So here, again, we are introduced to a new 
world; and if we are speculative, we may think of this 
world in terms even of the infinitesimally small. 

Thus, on the one hand, an increasing knowledge has en- 
larged the world as represented to us by our minds. The 
earth, the solar system, our sidereal system, and the bound- 
less realms of space, we have before us — the infinitely 
great. On the other hand, the same knowledge has put be- 
hind the world another world hidden to our senses, — the 
world of the microscope, of chemistry, of physics, — until 
finally our intellects suggest the limitless enlargement 
of parts, and so the existence of the infinitesimal world. 

What a different world it is from that with which each 
of us began in the first months of babyhood, and what a 
different world from that in which each of us usually lives 
in the daily walks of life. We talk glibly enough about 
chemical formulae; we look at the sun and the stars; and 
did one ask us about their distance, we should talk just 
as easily about the millions of miles as we do about a 
dozen inches. But this is simply due to the feebleness 
and poverty of our imaginations. Did we think but a 
moment, we should be conscious how inadequate, from 
the point of view of the whole truth, the usual representa- 
tion is. Of course, the usual representation is quite 
sufficient for the wants of the hour and satisfies those wants 



22 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

far better than if we spent our days dreaming of the in- 
finite expanses on the one hand and their infinitesimal 
contents on the other. But somehow, what serves so well 
the practical needs of daily life, falls far short of the 
world that an unlimited intelligence and imagfination 
would represent. 

If there seems such a difference to us who have been 
brought up to believe in the world that science has in 
part revealed, how great and overwhelming would that 
difference seem to men to whom it Avas entirely new. To 
the people of the Middle Ages, who lived in so much 
smaller a world, and to the people since those days, science 
has been telling this entirely new story, and has thereb}^ 
been introducing new thoughts of a revolutionary char- 
acter, yes, thoughts that often meant an overturning of 
beliefs of which the mind had become most fond. How 
natural, then, does it seem that resistance was offered to 
the new ideas, and that only very slowly has a readjust- 
ment to the new, and thereby a rebuilding, taken place. 
The World, But the world of the infinitely great and of the infinitely 
audits small is far more than this. Our world is also one of infi- 

innuite 

variety, and nitc variety. Look where we Avill there is always some- 
eternal thinp' new to find, something different to be discovered, 
dilierence. ^ ' & 

What could seem more nearly alike than the pebbles strewn 
along the seashore, but do we ever find two really the 
same? On the maple the leaves all look sufficiently alike 
to be recognized at once as maple leaves, yet how easy it 
is to pick any two and notice a difference between them. 
In some families the common type of feature is so marked 
that we can recognize even strangers as members. Yet 
seen together we easily distinguish even the very closely 
resembling twins. From cases of this near similarity of 
feature we turn our attention to that of faces in a great 
crowd. All are distinctly human, but there seem to be 
never two alike. So we could go on recalling the wonder- 
ful variety throughout every type or sort of object in the 



INFINITE DIVERSITY OF THINGS IN NATURE 23 

whole realm of nature. It is true, we should have to 
stop when we came to objects too small for us to see, or 
in some wa}'- directly to perceive. Thus it is true that 
you and I may not be able to find any difference between 
one set of atoms of hydrogen and the atoms of the same 
element elsewhere. But still there comes to one the 
belief that could we only see them as we see the leaves of 
the maple tree, the same wonderful variety would reveal 
itself here also. Is there any end to it as far as we can 
judge or as far as the facts of nature lead us to believe? 
We have to answer No, and thus regard the world as com- 
posed of objects admitting of an indefinite variety. Not 
only do these objects themselves differ, but their motions 
seem likewise to differ wherever we are able to observe 
them carefully. Who ever threw a stone through abso- 
lutely the same path in the air, landing upon the identical 
spot of ground as did the stone that he threw before ? In 
short, who of us ever repeated an act with absolute accu- 
racy? A careful measurement or observation would be 
sure to show parts of the act a little different in the one case 
from like parts in the other. We may try to play a piece 
of music twice over, but every time we do so, and are keenly 
observant, we are sensitive of differences. And what is 
true in such complicated activities as our own seems 
equally true, for the best of reasons, of the simple activi- 
ties in the material world about us. What day is the exact 
repetition of some previous day in atmosphere and tem- 
perature ? What river flows two successive days in exactly 
the same channel ? We find evidence of its wearing away 
continuously some of its bank or altering the course of its 
channel. The difference from day to day may be exceed- 
ingly small ; but still we believe that sufficiently delicate 
measurement would betray it. The stars seem to follow 
day in and day out the same paths in the heavens ; but if 
there be the fine variations in latitude the astronomers 
seek to determine, this must mean a continuous change in 



24 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

their paths. Likewise, too, we know the path of the earth 
is influenced or changed by its relative position to other 
heavenly bodies. Must it not then follow that as this 
relative position is constantly changing, so must also the 
path of the earth? Again, through the constant change 
in the heat stored up within our earth and the constant 
radiation of this heat into space, the strain upon the 
crust of the earth must be constantly altered, and thereby 
changes in that crust must take place. So likewise 
in the ocean. In animals and in plants growth and 
varying environment must be ever producing different 
actions and reactions. We hear over and over a^ain of 
human nature being ever the same and of history repeat- 
ing itself; but we do not mean this except in a rough way. 
No two instances of human conduct, no two stages in the 
world's history or in a nation's, are mere repetitions. A 
new element, and a very large new element, is sure to be 
found, if our observation and information be but fairly 
accurate and complete. Thus we tind, no matter where 
we look, and we believe we could find even where our 
senses fail at present to reveal it, an indefinite variety of 
objects and an indefinite variety of actions or changes 
taking place in or through these objects. 

But these statements do not even yet exhaust the list of 
nature's wonderful wealth. We have spoken of size, of 
grouping of parts, and of shape, and, finally, of changes 
so far as they consist of motion ; but we have neglected to 
mention the wonderful wealth and variety of nature's 
qualities. How indefinitely long is the list of qualities 
revealed to every chief organ of sense! Take our sense 
of smell and taste, but above all our sense of sound and 
vision. How indefinitely great are the varieties of sound! 
There are not merely all the different tones of the scale 
and all their combinations, giving rise to an indefinite 
number of musical compositions ; but the same note played 
on different sorts of instruments gives quite a different 



INFINITE DIVERSITY OF THINGS IN NATURE 25 

sound. Yes, even more, to a very keen ear how different 
are the sounds of two pianos, or of any two other musical 
instruments, and of the same pieces played by different 
artists. However, there is nowhere else to be found in 
nature at large so wonderful a richness in quality as our 
vision reveals to us. Nature's possibility of variety in color 
seems truly infinite. To ask how many colors there found 
is but to ask how many colors Ave can see. The list, 
according to psychology, would surely be in terms of 
thousands. 

Yet again we must add to our list a new and most im- 
portant element that gives possibility of variation. We 
refer to time. Think of the changes that take place with 
each one of us in the course of a day, a year, a lifetime. 
But remember, further, that the great changes of nature 
are the work of centuries, yes, of aeons measured each in 
terms even of millions of years. Such are the wearing 
away of a cliff by the ocean, the rising or sinking of a 
coast or of a continent, the origin of new species and 
races of animals and plants, the coming into being of new 
planets and their gradual consolidation, the rising of new 
solar and even sidereal systems. On, on we might go 
into the past or into the future. Where shall we put 
the beginning or the ending of nature's activities? Yes, 
dare we even suggest that there was a beginning or will 
be an ending ? Are not they infinite in duration ? 

Thus far we have described the world that we gradually 
come to know better from childhood on, in terms of its 
most general characteristics, that is, in terms of its size 
and of its parts, and of the variety in the combination of its 
parts and activities. Finally, we have spoken of its indefi- 
nite richness in qualities. Already enough has been sug- 
gested to cause the intelligent imagination to go on Avith 
the work of picturing to itself, with ever increasing won- 
der, the infinite variety of things and qualities of our world 
as it extends in space and time without end. Yet all this 



26 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

lias been done in terms of very wide and therefore very 
general significance. Did we take up each type of object 
beginning Avith the largest classes and going down to less 
and less extensive ones, and give some adequate account 
of each, we all know that the largest library could alone 
contain the results of human endeavor so to describe the 
world. Every book in all the branches of science and 
literature is only an attempt to add its small share to 
such a description. And, after all, what has been 
described is by no means all that is, but rather only 
that part of what exists which has interested man and 
become sufficiently evident to him. Here it is that the 
master of every science feels profoundly what a mere 
beginning our sciences have made. Especially is this true 
of those that deal with nature's most complicated manifes- 
tations, such as life and society. As a consequence, the 
farther we try to proceed in our work of pointing out the 
wealth of nature, or the farther our reading and study of 
science, of history, and of general literature take us, the 
vaster, the more wonderful, yes, the more clearly infinite 
does nature seem in every respect. 



CHAPTER III 



THE GEADATIO^Sr OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND EELA- 
TIONS IN RESPECT TO THEIR UNIVERSALITY AND 
PERMANENCE 

Such is but the briefest resume of that world we call 
nature, the world about us. On the one hand, we see its 
infinite wealth of existence, countless objects and their 
infinite changes, the infinite richness in qualities and the 
infinite variety of grouping and combination. On the 
other hand, we see the gradual growth of man's knowl- 
edge of this world and, therefore, of his ability adequately 
to picture it to himself. We see the world of the child 
and of the man, of the uncivilized and of the civilized, 
of the ancient and of the modern, of the last century and 
of our own century. We see at once the infinite task the 
mind of man has before it in gaining a complete knowl- 
edge of a world so manifold and changing. All this is at 
best a faint, brief, and necessarily vague picture of the 
problem that nature presents us. 

Did we come to realize nature fully or picture it vividly, 
the effect would be to overawe us, for the ta&k that the 
intellect has to do is so stuj^endous that the mind would 
be indeed overwhelmed, yes, paralyzed. Were it brought 
thus face to face with nature all that it could realize 
would be chaos, infinite chaos. Fortunately, no such 
overwhelming experience is possible, or at least possible 
for more than a moment. The world in its fulness is an 
experience no finite mind can have, and the feeble attempts 
of our imagination carry us but a little way. Yes, fortu- 
nately, we are better fitted for our work. The very limita- 

27 



To interpret 
Nature in 
all its 
Infinitude 
is a task 
that is itself 
infinite. 



This would 
mean 

Intellectual 
Paralysis 
were it not 
for the 
Limitations 
of our 
Experience 
and all its 
Repetitions. 
These make 
possible our 
becoming at 
home in the 
World. 



28 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

tions of our experience save us and make the work of 
knowing and picturing the world a possibility. The 
experiences of childhood are very limited, and are full of 
all manner of frequent repetitions. Otherwise the child 
could never advance beyond its first stage of intelligence. 
In short, time and repeated opportunity are given it to 
find its way about in the entangled, boundless forest of 
the world. All this, however, is possible only because its 
footsteps are few and because it wanders even then within 
a very small forest area. As it grows mentally and phj^si- 
cally, it wanders farther and in more directions. In 
time it can climb neighboring hills or some towering tree 
and gain a faint view of the surrounding forest for a 
short distance, or occasionally for miles beyond. This 
gradual acquisition of knowledge or orientation in the 
child's complex environment so transforms its world from 
a chaotic experience into an ordered familiarity with 
things about it, that it feels at home in the world and 
lives in peace and safety and in happy ignorance of the 
world beyond the home. Yes, Avho would have a home 
that lived in a different household every day of his life ? 
Happily such is not our life, for nature has made it 
possible for every man to be at home even in an infinite 
world; she has forced every living being to become more 
or less at home somewhere on peril of existence itself. 
To know, or Now what do WO mean by becoming at home in the 
to become world? Essentially the same thing that we mea.n bv 

at home in _ _*^ "^ -^ 

the world is becoming at home in a new house, in a new family or cir- 

an^™zing° ^^®' ^^ ^^ ^ ^^®^^ town or country. In a new city I am at 

our expe- first bewildered by the strange and crooked streets, the 

recombinine Unfamiliar houscs and shops, the perplexing street-car 

selected system, the strange faces. After a while the main streets 

become familiar. As I walk through them day after 

day, one part of them after another, or one feature of 

them after another, becomes fixed in my mind. There is 

the same house I have noticed day after day. So-and-so 



GKADATION OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND RELATIONS 29 

lives yonder. This corner if turned takes me to such and 
such a friend's house. There is the fashionable shopping 
district. Two streets farther, and we shall come to the 
City Hall. That car line would bring us to such and such 
places. So it goes. Thus little by little, now one point 
now another is noticed: and we make a great deal out 
of just such little points, really exaggerate them, for 
out of them we construct the whole. Who can picture 
all the houses on any long street? We can remember 
those that have attracted our attention and interest, 
but the others refuse to come up in our imagination. 
How often as we walk along such a street does it 
suddenly flash across our minds, " Wliy, there is a house 
or shop I do not remember having seen before." Yet 
nothing can be surer than that we have passed it and 
seen it hundreds of times. What better proof that we 
notice some things in life and fail to notice others, that 
some features of this world become to us all-important 
and others are quite neglected. Thus ultimately a famil- 
iarity with anything means that we have noticed some of 
its features or characteristics, that we have picked these 
out and neglected the others. So it is in our daily life. 
But now v/e are trying to be scientists ; and therefore 
we ask: Is it different in our attempt to get that clear, 
systematic, careful view of things for which the true The task of 

scientist searches? It certainly is not. We select the ^"®°^^ 

. differs from 

features or characteristics of things that somehow attract all other 

our attention. The rest escape, and fortunate it is for knowledge 

^ ' _ only in 

science that the same truth holds for her as for the infant, being more 
Our psychology tells us two things are necessary for the 
growth of knowledge: repeated experiences and varia- 
tions within these experiences. The same old hiimdrum 
forever would not be a way to learn to know the world, 
yet the other extreme would be equally hopeless. 

Now in trying to find his way about this world the 
scientist is very ambitious. He climbs hills to get a broad 



thorough. 



30 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

view, or, again, he goes back and forth to see whither a 
street leads, to see where its turns are and what are its 
new directions. He notices things that other men let pass 
unnoticed. He joins together this appearance with that, 
and thereby connects or orders different features of things 
or different things that most of us hardly ever think of 
connectinsf. We walk over much the same beaten track 
every day without noticing the less evident connections 
between things until they are pointed out to us. How 
many of us might have gone through life and not have 
noticed the following connections had they not been 
pointed out to us by our teachers or others. That a tri- 
angle equals half the rectangle constructed on its base, 
and with the same altitude. That a circle has of all 
figures with equal length of boundary the greatest area. 
That the tide has aught to do with the position of the 
moon in the heavens. That our brain is the organ most 
intimately related to consciousness. ■ That the weight of 
the air causes water to rise in a pump. And so indefi- 
nitely through the countless truths of the simplest popular 
science. Yet their discovery by science means simply 
the same sort of discovery that the infant makes when he 
notices that pounding the table gives a different sound 
from that of a spoon falling on the floor. One has 
merely noticed less evident connections or differences 
between things than has the other. Otherwise the two 
achievements are of the same sort. 

To connect two things means, as a piece of knowledge, 
to take them to pieces and to put them together again in 
a different way.^ We watch the position of the moon and 
the motions of the tides ; in short, we compare them in 
respect of time. But to compare them in respect of time 
means to discriminate them, and so to separate them from 

1 Psychologically speaking this is of course not strictly true, for the 
mental process is often much simpler. However, as knowledge we 
have to describe it thus. Cf. chapter xxxvii. 



GRADATION OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND RELATIONS 31 

the general manifestations of nature, to observe one 
characteristic and to consider that all by itself. The 
moon and the tide are not at all alike; but let us once 
notice that they undergo certain changes together, and 
then we are at once tempted to connect them. Why do 
we connect the thunder with the lightning ? Simply be- 
cause. we have noticed a definite time relation between 
them. They are very unlike, and v^^ere there no regularity 
in their occurrence, who would suspect such an intimate 
connection? Yet the connection is a very easy one for 
us to make because it is so easy to notice that they do 
occur closely together. Thus, to find the relation or con- 
nection between things, we have to have our attention 
attracted to their peculiarities, or, better, their common 
peculiarities. We have to separate mentally the object's 
characteristic that makes it like some other, and that may 
prove to be the basis of a connection between the two. 

But in the infinitely manifold world in which we live 
this noticing of some common characteristic is usually very 
difiicult. It is just like trying to connect two things about 
which we are asked in a riddle. We see no connection, 
and soon tell the inquirer we "give it up." He tells us 
the answer, and we laugh at the strange connection. It 
is ever so easy to see it now that vve are told, but how 
hard it was before, in fact, how almost absurdly impos- 
sible it was to detect the connection. Why? Because, to 
detect it, we had to analyze the two things and pick out 
some characteristic in this case at least very unnotice- 
able. So, also, is it with the infinite variety of character- 
istics we see in the world. 

To discover and to point out the common characteristics 
of things is the work of science, in fact, of all knowledge; 
and to do this, as we have just seen, we have to pick out 
even the most obscure peculiarities, qualities, and con- 
nections. This work of analyzing goes on in us from 
childhood ; but it has gone on in our race and civilization 



09 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The results 
of the 
analysis of 
our Expe- 
rience, and 
the con- 
sequent 
classifica- 
tion of 
objects. 



This 

classifica- 
tion results 
in a grada- 
tion of 
objects in 
respect to 
their 
Complexity. 



for ages. The consequence is, our own observation gives 
us but little information as compared with all that tradi- 
tion furnishes. 

But what are the main results given by tradition that 
govern us in picking out the qualities of natural objects? 
Above all else the discovery that in the infinite variety 
of qualities or characteristics some are very scarce, others 
are very common, some are seldom found in things, others 
are very often found, and still others are always found. 
Then, again, that most objects are undergoing change 
often or even continuously, and that in this process of 
change some qualities are very short-lived, others longer- 
lived, and still others are eternal. Thus it is found that 
all societies have some characteristics in common, eveiy- 
where and always. That all men have such. That all 
animals, all living objects, all organic objects, and, finally, 
all objects in the whole realm of nature have some in 
common. Here we see at once how the different classes 
must be connected together always in some respects, no 
matter how they may differ in thousands and millions of 
other respects; and how in the infinite world there is a 
hierarchy of universality or commonness of occurrence 
among the qualities. Such a hierarchy is to be seen in 
the common classification of nature's objects into the 
physical, the chemical, the biological, and, finally, the 
sociological kingdoms, or types of phenomena. 

If we examine the bases upon which this division of 
objects into classes is made, we shall find that the one 
basis varies in complexity from the other. The more ex- 
tended, or all-including, any such class of objects is, the 
fewer characteristics are required of an object to be a 
member of that class. This is the familiar rule in logic: 
as the extension of a term increases, its intension ordi- 
narily decreases. Thus the science that interprets objects 
as members of any one of these several classes will deal 
with problems of wider or less extension. Physics deals 



GRADATION OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND RELATIONS 33 

with problems of universal extension or application in 
nature; chemistry with problems of less extension, and so 
also with biology and sociology. 

We find the world divided by physics into two sorts of The World 
objects, — the imponderable and the ponderable. On the o^^^y^ic^- 
one hand, we have the ether with its phenomena, such as 
light, electricity, and magnetism. On the other hand, ■ 
we have those objects that for our senses admit of a fuller 
knowledge, the objects that have weight and whose bulk 
becomes often sufficiently great for us to perceive them 
through sight and touch. In this ponderable world, ad- 
mitting of a larger experience than the other, man has 
discovered differences that enable him to make a greater 
number of important distinctions. The chief of these The World 
form the basis of that knowledge of nature we call o**^^^™!^- 
chemistry. Here, then, we come upon a new division of 
objects, first of all into the organic and inorganic world. 
The real, or original basis of this distinction is the rela- 
tively simple and complicated chemical structure of differ- 
ent objects. Those objects that are either alive or have 
been alive or are products of living objects, were found to 
be chemically more complicated than other objects. In 
time, however, the chemist was able to construct from 
purely inorganic objects compounds that were organic. 
So the recognized basis of distinction between the two 
classes of objects has become the presence or absence of 
the element carbon in their composition, — those that 
contain the former being, of course, organic and tlie latter 
inorganic. Still, for us, the important point is the rela- 
tive richness of the one form of object in qualities, or, 
more broadly speaking, in characteristics, as compared 
with the other. 

But the moment we make the division, organic and The World 
inorganic, we commence to think of that higher division °^ ^^^^' 
we meet in the former class, of objects into living and 
lifeless. A new world now draws our attention, — the 



34 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

world of life. Here we find such a marvellous wealth of 
qualities and other characteristics along with such a 
complicated structure, that the work of science, to dis- 
cover and describe, becomes far more difficult. We need 
not here enter into a discussion of the abstract definition 
of life, for the division presupposed is a quite familiar one. 
There are, however, many leading characteristics that do 
deserve a passing attention in our present line of thought. 
Those of us that have not studied biology are very apt in 
thinking of the living to give all our thought to the 
higher living objects that commonly attract our atten- 
tion, such as the common plants we see about the field, 
the roadside, and the garden, and the common animals, 
including man, and the beasts of the field and forest, the 
birds, the fish of the sea, the insects. We are thus apt to 
forget the forms of life that are microscopic; we are apt 
to forget that the chief elements that make up a living 
body, the cells of the muscles and bones, the ganglion 
cells of the nervous sj^stem, the ovum, the cells in the 
blood, are each by themselves living objects. That, in 
short, our definition of life would have to hold true of 
them just as of the more familiar forms of life. We recog- 
nize the latter forms so easily by their movements, either 
the movements of growth, or the movements leading to 
the procuring of food, or the avoidance of enemies, or 
defence against them. It is the fitness of their activities 
for the preservation of the individual or the species that 
especially attracts attention. But to embrace all forms 
of life we might want to make this statement even broader. 
We might rather say we find that living objects play 
some active part in the world. They are not merely the 
creatures of forces without them as is the stone or the 
river. They act, and their action gives them some ele- 
ment of independence. Their acts take at least some 
account of the forces without, and show, to some degree 
at least, an ability to cope with such forces, and even 



GRADATION OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND RELATIONS 35 

bend these to their service. Where we see such adapta- 
tion, we at once suspect that life exists. 

But there are so many grades of life and, therefore, so The World 
many degrees of ability to cope with the forces that sur- Qj-Lnism 
round the creature. One of the most wonderful, yes, the and of 
most wonderful of these adaptations, may be described as °^^^ ^' 
a partnership of individuals in the work of adjustment to 
environment. Such partnership might in cases here and 
there be but the temporary result of purely accidental cir- 
cumstances ; but in the great mass of cases we find evi- 
dence that each of the creatures is definitely constituted 
for the office named. It is here we come upon those phe- 
nomena we call organic and social. There is the life of 
the body, and there is the life of the family, and, again, 
of the general social body, in one case a mere horde, in 
another a tribe, in another a nation, and, finally, in the 
last stage the coming of nations into closer touch and into 
cooperation. We have many minor complex social mani- 
festations within the larger groups : the castes and classes, 
the industrial and political movements, and the religious 
and moral movements with all their accompanying phe- 
nomena. In our study of history we get the social 
phenomena in that broad view which shows their gradual 
growth and widespread effects : — the gradual growth of 
a national idea that little by little works its way into 
every branch of social life and transforms that life. 

If we examine again the hierarchy of the different classes We may 

of objects, we shall see that characteristics found univer- |^^^f^*^® 

sally in the higher class belong to all members of the class from the 

below. In short, we find that the study of animal life is ^?'° '^f 
' -J view of 

dealing with more general characteristics than the study their Uni- 

of man, because whatever is true of animals as a whole is aM siml- 

surely true of man ; but on the other hand things are true lariy the 

of all men that are not true of all animals. Hence we find ^^ose fields 

that the science corresponding to the different classes of ^^^y ^-re. 
objects deals with more and more universal characteristics 



86 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



In short, 
natural 
sciences 
differ in the 
Univer- 
sality of the 
character- 
istics they 
point out 
and inter- 
pret in 
things. 



or qualities as we go down the scale from sociology to 
physics, and in our list chemistry and physics deal with 
the most universal. 

Let us next proceed to determine what these most uni- 
versal and the absolutely universal qualities are. First 
let us ask the chemist. He tells us there are two great 
classes of material objects to one of which his laws apply, 
whereas for the other there is no chemistry; namely, 
there are those objects that have weight and the properties 
called chemical affinity. Of all ponderable bodies the 
chemist asks of what do they consist. He has found in 
reply to his question that any body may be divided and 
divided until we come to a point where further division 
in any body whatsoever changes its composition. These 
ultimate forms he calls molecules. Thus there is a mole- 
cule of water, of salt, of air, of glass, of cooking soda, and 
so on indefinitely. His division has not reached a point 
where water has ceased to be water, or salt, salt. But in 
the vast number of bodies composing the air, or the crust 
of the earth and their inhabitants, the division can be car- 
ried farther. Water can be divided until it ceases to be 
water, salt, also, until it ceases to be salt, and so on in- 
definitely. As a result of this further division the chem- 
ist has found that all ponderable bodies with which he is 
acquainted consist of yet minuter bodies that have resisted 
every attempt at any further division. These bodies have, 
accordingly, been called atoms. But these atoms differ 
greatly in their properties or characteristics or qualities, 
and it has been found that we have about seventy different 
kinds of atoms, or chemical elements. In this way the 
chemist is enabled to look upon all ponderable bodies as 
made up of bodies called chemical atoms; and therefore 
the general laws of chemistry can be applied to all such 
bodies. As a result, we are told that all ponderable 
bodies have certain properties, or characteristics ; and 
therefore these characteristics are universal within the 



GRADATION OF THINGS, QUALITIES, AND RELATIONS 37 

class. No matter how such a ponderable body may change, 
certain ultimate truths or chemical laws will hold con- 
cerning it; in short, it will, as far as our ability to 
change it goes, retain forever certain chemical properties. 
But our analysis of nature does not end with chem- 
istry. One element differs from another, and some things, 
such as the imponderable bodies, are not even elements. 
Then, too, it may be that the chemical atoms are composed 
of simpler bodies yet. If this be so, we must say that the 
chemical properties of any given atom are not necessarily The most 
absolutely permanent and are not universally found, ^^y^'^'^^''^^ 
Therefore can we not go farther and make an analysis of natural 
bodies where we shall have properties that every body in p]^!.s^cs^ ^^ 
the whole universe must be supposed to possess, and thus 
properties that can never be different, no matter what 
change takes place to alter the given body in other respects ? 
The science of physics tells us what these properties are. 
Every body must have extension, it must occupy some space. 
It is impenetrable, that is, two bodies cannot occupy abso- 
lutely the same space. Every body occupies at any given 
instant a definite position in space, or is in the act of 
passing from one position to another. In short, every body 
is, or can be, a moving body. If a body moves, it never ■ 
ceases to move at the same rate of speed and in the same 
direction, unless it transfers its motion toother bodies, or, 
in other words, unless they alter its motion or its direction 
and have theirs in turn altered by it. Thus, upon analysis, 
the world of nature is composed of a great expanse, called 
space, within which are an indefinite number of bodies 
having extension, and each its own peculiar location, and 
within which these bodies move or change their relative 
position. Consequently, every body has extension and 
impenetrability and location or motion from place to place. 
Here we then have the highest class in the hierarchy, a 
class having so few and so universal characteristics that 
all nature's objects whatsoever may be brought under it. 




CHAPTER IV 



THE PKIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES ^ 



I. The Pri- 
mary and 

Secondary 
Qualities. 



The former 
are said to 
be objec- 
tively real, 
but the 
latter are 
only sub- 
jective. 



The argu- 
ment that 
color is 
subjective. 



At this point of our discussion we come upon a view 
that has been widely held, formerly among philosophers 
and now among natural scientists. These universal 
characteristics belonging to all objects of nature are 
separated from the others, or non-universal character- 
istics. The former, or physical ones, are called the 
primary qualities, whereas the others are called second- 
ary. But many thinkers do not stop merely at this dis- 
tinction. There is a difference in the reality itself of 
the two classes of qualities. The primary qualities are 
regarded as really existing in, or belonging- to, bodies; 
whereas the secondary qualities only appear to exist in 
the bodies, but are really only the way in which our mind 
pictures them. Let us examine and describe this view at 
greater length. 

The objects of nature generally have color, and if of 
sufficient size are seen by us. But does this color really 
exist as their property? We receive the answer. No. 
For instance, take the apple we hold in our hand. In the 
first place, the real object is composed of particles or mole- 
cules. Secondly, the ether is set into vibration by the 

1 Historical Note. 

The division of qualities into primary and secondary goes back to the 
Greek Atomists. It was adopted in Modern Philosophy especially by 
Des Cartes in whose metaphysics it plays a very important part. Fol- 
lowing Des Cartes, John Locke adopted it. 

Cf . especially Sir William Hamilton, Lectures on Metaphysics, Vol. II, 
p. 108 ff., for history of distinction, and Baldwin's Dictionary of Phi- 
losophy and Psychology. 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 39 

sun, and these vibrations are passed on through the space 
between the earth and the sun, and are finally, in part, 
conveyed to the surface of the apple. Here two things 
happen. Some of the vibratory motion is retained by the 
surface of the apple, or the molecules, and some is thrown 
back, or reflected. These reflected vibrations, or waves, in 
the 'ether pass to the retina, in the back of the eyes. Here 
a chemical decomposition is caused by them, and the par- 
ticles in our optic nerve are set into motion. This motion 
passes to the back of our brain, and there other motions 
are caused by it. Then we see the red apple. But in the 
world without our minds, the real apple is not red. It is 
only a body that reflects vibrations of a given form and 
rapidity. Now what is true of our apple is true of all 
colored objects. Their color is the effect of their motions 
upon our mind. What really exists in the world without 
is not the color, but the moving body or bodies. To show 
this still more clearly. As the sun goes down and the 
light in our room grows less, the colors of objects change. 
But how can this be, if, to take an instance, our red table- 
cover be really red? It cannot be red in the darkness as 
it is in the light. But why not? All we can say is, its 
particles have altered the character of their motions, and 
therefore do not stimulate our organs of sight in the same 
way as they did when the sun shone into our room. Again, 
here is a man that is color-blind. We can put before him 
objects that are differently colored, and he fails to dis- 
tinguish this difference and maintains that he sees the 
same color in each case. How are we to explain this? 
The objects are, and must be, either alike or unlike. The 
discrepancy must be in the observers, and perhaps entirely 
within their retinas. Therefore the color seen depends 
not upon the object, but upon the nervous system. Thus, 
the color is not a part of the object, but consists only of 
those activities that form the means of stimulating our 
organ of vision. 



40 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The argu- 
ment 

that Sound 
is only 
subjective, 
and likewise 
the other 
secondary 
qualities. 



II. Criticism 
of this 
doctrine of 
the reality 
of qualities. 



Likewise regarding sound. It is not a real sound with- 
out our minds, in tlie world about us, that makes us 
hear, but the vibration of the air that beats upon the drum 
of our ears. A man's voice does not travel over the tele- 
phone wire. What does ? Electric currents. By means 
of an electric magnet these cause the diaphragm in 
the receiver which we hold to our ears to vibrate just as 
does the diaphragm of the instrument into which our 
friend speaks. Hence the vibrations of air set into ex- 
istence by the vibrating diaphragm of the receiver are 
very much the same as those that would strike against 
the drum of our ears were our friend talking to us in the 
same room. The sound we hear is therefore not a picture 
of the changes or events without our minds, but is only 
caused by them. The sound exists within our minds, 
without is the vibrating air. So likewise with heat and 
all other secondary qualities : they are seen or felt by us 
because the objects about us are constantly causing, 
directly or indirectl}'-, activities, that is motions, in our 
nervous system. Tlierefore these secondary qualities are 
mental, or subjective ; whereas the primary qualities, the 
motions and extension of the bodies, form the real world 
of nature, or the objective world. The secondary are 
merely mental states that exist in our mind as we perceive 
the objects about us, and therefore have no existence apart 
from the perceiving mind. The others are truly present 
in the objects themselves entirely apart from our percep- 
tion of those objects. Were there no perceiving minds 
sound would not exist. What would exist would be the 
vibrations of the air that give rise to our sensations of 
sound. Likewise there would be no light, but only the 
vibrations of an imponderable medium that now give rise 
to the stimulation of our optic nerve. 

Can we, as critical students of the fundamental tenets 
of science, accept this doctrine of qualities without modifi- 
cation? Let us try to determine the facts, and thereby 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 41 

to see whether the general doctrine be a just interpreta- i. What are 
tion of those facts, or whether the doctrine, true in part, ^^ck^of tw 
has not been made false by a misunderstanding of its real doctrine ? 
meaning. Surely no one of truly scientific spirit would 
nowadays maintain that any a j>j>?-ton' constructions of our 
intellect could, entirely apart from experience, justify 
such a doctrine. In short, no one will deny our assertion 
that such a theory must go back to some facts of experi- 
ence to justify itself. Nor will he deny that these facts 
are revealed to u.s through our organs of sense. In other 
words, the man that maintains the subjective existence 
alone of the secondary qualities must have had some sense- 
experience that he regards as proof of his position. There- 
fore we, as critics, must find those facts which lie at the 
basis of this whole doctrine, for they and they alone must 
be the key to the criticism of the theory. 

First, then, what are those facts given us in every day's They show 
experience that at once mark off the one set of qualities gnce in the""' 
from the other, and thus constitute the basis of our doc- permanence 
trine? The answer to this question has been given in a saiity°oJ'the 

general way already. It is the truth that some qualities, ^^o classes 
T . . , . n , 1 . , of qualities, 

or characteristics, oi a thing are more permanent or 

universal than are others. In other words, a most in- 
teresting fallacy is here made by those who believe that 
the secondary qualities do not exist objectively. They 
have mistaken "exceptional existence" for "subjective 
existence," and "constant existence" for "objective The Proof 

existence." So much for a brief statement of our results. ° * ^^ <. 

statement. 

Let US see whence we get them. 

If we wanted to make a study of dogs, we should of in science 
course try to get a large number of specimens of that spe- ^^^^00* or 
cies, and examine each carefully. Yet, on the other hand, general, and 
who of us would go as far as to say that we should see if'dj'vMua^ 
every dog on the face of the earth and examine each care- or peculiar, 
fully? For some reason or other, there would be such 
a thing as wasting our time by going too far in hunting 



42 INTRODUCTION TO PIIILOSOI'IIY 

for specimens, just as there would be a liability to error 
in not seeing enough sj)ecimens. After a moment's medi- 
tation it will be evident that our reasoning would be some- 
thing like the following. All dogs are so much alike that 
if we examine some representative specimens of every type 
or breed we shall have ample material for our study. Dogs 
are sufficiently alike to allow us to let a comparative 
few represent for us all the dogs on the face of the earth. 
A thousand Avould serve our purpose as well and probably 
far better than a million, and even this thousand we might 
be disposed to regard as too many. But right here mark 
well: we did not say dogs are alike, but &uffi,oientli/ alike. 
What does that word "sufficientl}^ " mean ? It means that 
we might affirm that no two dogs in the whole world are 
really alike. Each dog may have his own peculiarities ; 
but we do not care about these. We care only about those 
characteristics that are more or less common to the dogs 
of any one breed, or, again, to dogs in general. The pecu- 
liarities of the individual dog we neglect; whereas the 
common qualities that any good specimen will have, these 
we seek to know. In short, any few good specimens of a 
breed give us the characteristics not of everj'-- dog in that 
breed, but the characteristics in which we are interested, 
namely, the common characteristics. Just think what a 
state of affairs it would be if a botanist who wanted to 
study the grasses were obliged to examine carefully every 
blade in every grass plot or lawn on the face of the earth. 
Or if a writer about the American people had to become 
the intimate friend of every man, woman, and child in our 
broad land. At once it becomes evident that no matter 
where we turn, the scientist is interested not so much in 
the peculiarities of the individual as in the characteristics 
alike in many individuals. 

Here at once we may divide the qualities of anything 
into two classes : those that are common to the class, and 
those that are peculiar to the individual. If we do this, 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 43 

what becomes at once evident about the frequency with The 
which we meet the qualities? Why, of course, the com- ^*"^'?^?° 

T- ^ . • qualities 

mon qualities are found in every specimen of the class must be the 
with which we come into contact; whereas the peculiar '^'''^^ '^■'^^^ 

' ••■ or the more 

qualities are seldom met with, and, in fact, most of them universally 
are never noticed or seen by even the best student of the this'meaus 
dog, -of the grasses, or of any other class of things. Thus they are less 

,1 T,- •^ £ . j_ liable to be 

the common qualities are the frequent, or permanent, absent or to 
qualities, whereas the peculiar qualities are the infre- disappear iu 

-11 Ti.- T'T,- £ 1 J. the course 

queut, or variable, qualities, ihis, or course, does not ofchano-e. 
mean necessarily that our dog Jack has his peculiar char- 
acteristics constantly changing. But it means that as we 
study dogs, going from one to the other, the peculiar 
qualities keep changing and the common qualities are met 
constantly, or are permanent. Of course we could take 
away from Jack some fairly permanent quality. We 
could cut off his tail. But, clearly, permanent in this 
sense we do not mean. Rather we mean permanent in the 
sense of universal. 

Now what has all this to do with primary and secondary The bear- 
qualities? Why, iust this. Some characteristics are com- i^goftt'is 

■^ . . truth upon 

mon to everything in the whole realm of nature, whereas the problem 
most qualities are variable, and some seem variable indefi- ^f primary 

1 ' and second- 

nitely. The universal, or permanent, qualities are the ary quaii- 
primary ones, and the variable, or peculiar, qualities are ^^^' 
the secondary ones. 

Here before us lies an apple. It is red as I now look at 
it. If I put a blue glass in between, it is blue. If the 
room gets dark the red loses its saturation, or ceases to be 
a tinted color, and becomes gray. Finally, the room 
may be so dark that I cannot see the apple at all. How- 
ever, I can stretch out my hand to take hold of the apple 
and thus recognize it perfectly as the very apple I had 
seen a few moments or hours ago. Now it has no color, 
as far as my senses inform me, but it has bulk, or exten- 
sion. It occupies space. Had this characteristic gone 



44 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

away the apple would have seemed to pass away too, yes, 
to have been annihilated. Again, two men walk into a 
room; the one has a chill but the other is healthy and has 
just come from the cold air out of doors. To the one the 
room seems cold, to the other, hot. From one point of 
view each man is right. The room is cold and the room 
is hot. But each statement is peculiar, not general. 
Neither represents a characteristic permanently true of 
the room. 

Now, as we go up and down the world, what are those 
characteristics, or properties, of things that are ever found, 
that never vary, in the sense of never being absent ? At 
once we must say: Everything in the whole realm of 
nature must occupy space, must be extended. It must 
have length, breadth, and thickness. It must be impene- 
trable, in the sense that did another thing occupy abso- 
lutely the same space that it did, it would no longer exist; 
it would have been annihilated. The color may change 
and even cease to be apparent. The heat might go or 
come. The apple might taste bad or good. The flower 
might smell fraq-rant or not so. The noise might rise or 
fall or disappear. However, in any case every object, 
large or small, moving or stationary, colored or not colored, 
would and must have extension. Thus, as we examine 
objects of the same class we find a variation in some quali- 
ties and a permanency in others ; and as we examine all 
things in nature, we find certain characteristics, namely, 
extension or occupying space, ever present, and all other 
qualities varying. There is still another truth that ex- 
perience finds holding ever of the things of nature. It is 
that every extended thing must be somewhere, namely, 
have a position relative to other things. It must be above 
them or below them, to the right or left, and so on. And 
this relation, called position, is ever liable to change. 
Now change of position is motion. Hence we get a uni- 
versal permanent truth holding of material things, they 



THE PEIMAKY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 45 

move or are liable to move. Thus we may sum up the 
most Pfeneral characteristics of nature in the two words 
"extension " and "motion." 

But, with these facts before us, what are we to say about 2. These 
the doctrine that the world external to mind has not the f^ctsdo not 

justify the 

great variety of qualities that are called secondary, the denial of 
doctrine, in short, that these are purely subjective, or, g^-g^g^^g 
again, merely states in our mind, that is, merely the result to the 
of impressions given to our brain by a world composed of qu^^i^tjg^ 
moving particles of matter, but not forming any element These 
of that matter? Do the facts justify those who teach revealed to^ 

this ? "s by sense 

Clearly the facts are against them. They are against the primary 
them because the same senses that reveal to us the extended ones, 
moving things reveal to us, also, the colored things, and so 
on, and because the only difference between the two classes 
of revealed qualities is in the degree of permanence and 
variation. We ask them by what right do they identify - 
a permanent quality with an objectively real quality and 
a variable quality v/ith a merely subjectively existing 
quality. 

But they will make this reply: Surely you do not mean 
to say that the sweet taste of sugar is a quality of the 
thing sugar. Surely sugar has a sweet taste only when 
it is the stimulus of certain nerve endings in our tongue. 
Would there be sweet-tasting things and fragrant things 
were there no tongues and noses in the world? Surely 
things smell and taste only when affecting our mind, that 
is, coming into a certain definite relation to it- Yes, we 
reply, what you say is true enough, but does not give you 
the right to draw any such conclusions. Things do 
not taste sweet to us unless we taste them ; things do not 
seem fragrant to us if we cannot smell them. But did 
this warrant us in denying the objective existence of these 
qualities, how should we be better off when we came to 
the primary qualities ? Things have length, breadth, and 



46 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



3. The world 
of primary 
qualities is 
made up of 
mere 

abstractions 
and cannot 
be pictured 
by us in the 
concrete. 



thickness for us onl}'- as we see or touch them. Because 
we have to make use of our organs of sense before we can 
perceive a quality, or because we have to conform to the 
way in which an organ can alone be stimulated, all this 
proves no more than that to perceive a thing our organs 
of sense must be stimulated. This fact militates just as 
strongly against primary as against secondary qualities. 
The only point our opponents make against taste and 
smell is their lack of permanence, their variability as part 
of the content revealed to our minds at any given time : 
in short, that the requirements of our organs of sense are 
more stringent in their case than in other cases. They 
are tasting and smelling objects to us only under cir- 
cumstances occurring comparatively seldom. Therefore 
their argument amounts to but this : The instances 
when sugar tastes sweet are indefinitely few in number 
compared with the host of instances of sugar in the whole 
realm of nature; hence sugar is really not sweet-tasting, 
but only causes, under definite conditions, a mental state 
in us called sweet! This is a fallacy, a complete non 
sequitur. More is in the conclusion than the premises 
warrant. From these premises we can only draw the 
conclusion, sugar as revealed to us is seldom actually 
sweet-tasting ; it is such only when brought into contact 
with the tongue. 

But there is another criticism of our opponent's doctrine. 
How absurd to say that these objects about us have no 
other quality than mere extension. Such an object was 
surely never seen or perceived by any child of man. How 
can our opponent picture to himself any such object? 
Everything we do imagine in visual terms must have color 
of some sort, or in tactual terms must have more than mere 
extension : it must have hardness or softness, smoothness 
or roughness, and so on. Such objects would not even 
form a world of ghosts to us, for it would be a world beyond 
any power of our minds to picture. Surely our opponents 



THE PKIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 



47 



have tried to construct a world out of sheer abstractions. 
It would be just as reasonable to say the world is composed 
of an infinite number of geometrical points or lines or any 
other ghost of an abstraction. The real concrete world, 
then, is a world not of ghosts or abstractions or of primary 
qualities, but a world infinitely rich in qualities. One 
and all belong to that world, and make it a world of 
indefinite variety. 

But are the physical sciences not right in making the 
distinction between the two classes of qualities, and are 
they not justified in disregarding in some ways the sec- 
ondary qualities? Yes, is our answer to both questions. 
Let us consider each question in turn. 

Perhaps to the traveller nothing is more confusing than 
the strange monetary system of a foreign land. At first 
it is always necessary for him to convert the pounds or 
shillings, the francs or the marks or other denominations, 
into their equivalent in the familiar money of his own 
land, for this represents his standard of measurement. 
Or, again, how confusing it is to us that use the Fahrenheit 
thermometer and are not familiar with the Centigrade to 
have the temperature given in the strange terms, or, still 
again, to hear of centimetres, litres, or grammes. Our first 
impulse is always to convert them into terms of familiar 
standards. In fact, we have to do this if we are to make 
comparisons that mean anything definite to us. A similar 
principle in arithmetic has to be learned by the small boy 
at school. He cannot add ten chairs and three tables, nor 
can he subtract five apples from six pears, nor can he 
divide into an even number of wholes eleven potatoes and 
seven turnips among three people. He is told that he 
must make the different objects truly commensurate ; that 
is, calling the chairs and the tables each a piece of furni- 
ture he can add ten (chairs) pieces of furniture and three 
(tables) pieces of furniture. 

From all this we learn the following lesson. To make 



in. The 
true signifi- 
cance to 
science of 
the distinc- 
tion between 
the primary 
and second- 
ary 
qualities. 



1. To be 
comparable, 
objects must 
be made 
members of 
the same 
class, or in 
terms of 
arithmetic 
commen- 
surable. 



48 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The primary- 
qualities, as 
the uni- 
versal ones, 
are the 
means of 
making all 
things 
comparable. 



arithmetical or geometrical comparisons we must make 
objects commensurate. Thus, if I want to compare a ton 
of coal and a cord of wood arithmetically I could measure 
their respective bulk, I could measure their weight, or I 
could measure the respective amounts of heat each might 
produce. But supposing I wanted to compare a cord of 
wood, a ton of coal, a pound of dynamite, a boiler full of 
steam, a red-hot cannon ball, a waterfall, a wound-up 
weight, the spring of a set bear-trap. Of course I could 
try to measure their bulk, but no doubt the reader has 
noticed a more satisfying means of comparison. "We can 
measure the amount of work they will do, or their poten- 
tial energy. 

But supposing that we wish to compare not merely these 
few things, but all material objects and their changes; 
we then find that the ultimate terms of comparison are 
length and breadth and thickness, or extension, for the 
things themselves ; and units of duration, or time multi- 
plied by distance, for measuring their changes. 

Notice, all changes are not motions, but to make all 
changes commensurable we have to reduce each to, or to 
associate each with, an appropriate motion. All material 
things are not in the totality of their existence mere bulk 
or extension. They have vastly more in the way of 
quality than this. But to make all material things com- 
mensurate we have to reduce them to bulk and to motion. 
Thus it is that we have to reduce nature to so much exten- 
sion and motion in order to make all things and qualities 
arithmetically comparable. But here it may be asked: 
Why can we not compare all things and their qualities 
in some other terms than common arithmetical units ? To 
this we can reply only that no other common properties 
besides bulk, motion, and duration can be found. We can- 
not choose color, for though it be true that all visible things 
have color, some properties are invisible and are, there- 
fore, incomparable in terms of color with visible properties. 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 49 

But, again, tlie material things about us are constantly 
changing, and how are we to make their " new selves " 
comparable with their "former selves"? Gunpowder 
exploded is something more than the few remnants of 
black ashes ; it is also the gas set free and expanding in 
an indefinite number of directions. How are we to com- 
pare' the non-exploded with the exploded gunpowder, or 
how, similarl}^, the water with the hydrogen and oxygen 
gases we get by analyzing the water? Clearly we cannot 
do so except in terms of some common property, and then 
a system of arithmetical units will be at least theoretically 
possible. In short, the whole tendency to divide the 
qualities into primary and secondary is due to the need 
of having a better system of comparison, a system admit- 
ting, to a greater and greater degree, of measurement. 
The primary qualities universally found in different things 
and in things changing from one state to another admit, 
theoretically, and often practically, of arithmetical com- 
parison throughout. Such comparison would be impos- 
sible did we continue to deal with the secondary qualities. 
Hence we see the fallac}^ of those who maintain that the 
secondary qualities are not real. They practically tell us 
that because we have to reduce tables and chairs to pieces 
of furniture in order to compare them, there do not exist 
tables and chairs, but only pieces of furniture. 

But there remains another very important problem. 2. The 
What ultimately is to be done by science with the sec- ^^^'^^ °^ ^^'^ 

. , •' . ^ ^ secondary 

ondary qualities ? For exist they certainly do, and there- qualities. 
fore cannot be ignored. In short, if science is to fulfil 
its ideal, it must be a science of all properties, not merely 
of the primary. In fact, we ask ourselves what would 
form the ideal science from the point of view of the 
present problem. 

First, we have a fact with which every one acquainted 
with the progress and tendencies of science in our cen- 
tury must be familiar. This fact is^ that all sciences are 



50 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The move- 
ment of all 
the special 
sciences 
toward 
physics ; 
and its 
significance. 



tending toward physics, and physics attempts "the sys- 
tematic exposition of the Phenomena and Projjerties of 
Matter and Energy in so far as these phenomena and prop- 
erties can be stated in terms of definite measurement." 
Largely, in the words of Dr. Daniell, " Chemistry is but 
a colony of facts closely related to one another, and clas- 
sified by us on principles which depend almost entirely upon 
our ifrnorance of the fundamental nature of the relation 
between those apparently different Forms of Matter w^hich 
we know as the various Chemical Elements ; and the con- 
summation of Chemistry, a full and accurate knowledge 
of the inner mechanism of all chemical reactions, would 
probably result in the absorption of all Chemistry in the 
wider science of Molecular Physics. In the meantime 
the fundamental unity of the two nominally distinct sci- 
ences, Chemistry and Physics, is shown by the extent to 
which they overlap one another in the field of Chemical 
Physics." That is, as Chemistry advances it pushes its 
way toward Physics by trying to reduce chemical phe- 
nomena to phenomena that can be stated in terms of 
definite measurement. 

Likewise Phj^siolog}^, or, "in a wider sense. Biology, is 
concerned with the matter and the energy of living beings ; 
and if it ever come to attain its highest ideal, even Biology 
must thereupon merge in Natural Philosophy (i.e. phys- 
ics). Already we see that while physiological research is 
steadily conquering the unknown, that which it succeeds 
in thoroughly explaining falls out of its grasp and comes 
to form a part of ordinary physical, or, it may in the 
meantime be, of ordinary chemical knowledge." 

We would here add a like truth concerning Psychology 
(a truth that must be defended later on and not here). 
The tendency in psychology is toward nervous physiology. 
This does not mean that mental states are identified with 
nervous changes or molecular disturbances in the proto- 
plasm of neurons. But for some reason, good or bad 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 51 

(and we think good), the psychologist feels that he could 
explain association, memory, and the content of percep- 
tions or ideas better if he could but work out a molecu- 
lar phj^sics of the brain cells and axis-cylinder processes. 
This is the ideal toward which he strives. The same may 
be said of Sociology. Thus we have one science after 
another pushing its way toward molecular physics ; and 
the explanation of this is that the scientific need for exact 
measurement can be met only when different properties 
are reduced to a commensurate property. Now the ideal 
province of physics is just to interpret the world of nature 
as far as it consists of properties and phenomena admitting 
of definite measurement. In short, the tendency of present- 
day science seems to inform us that the ideal science of 
society, mind, life, and chemical phenomena, would be 
a physics of them all. 

The justification for this we have already considered. 
All these phenomena are too intimately related, as any 
text-book in any one of them will show, for us to at- 
tempt to keep them apart and discuss their problems as 
though the phenomena of society, of economics, or of 
chemistry formed a little world by themselves and could 
be really known by one refusing to know any relation be- 
tween them and the larger world without. No part of the 
world, then, is sufficient unto itself. You cannot have a 
highly civilized, densely populated community on an 
island where there are no resources, such as fertility of 
soil, mineral wealth, fishing ground, commercial value 
of locality, or industrial value of some form of stored-up 
energy, such as coal or a waterfall. In short, society in 
some way depends upon the physical and chemical char- 
acter of the habitat. So, likewise, life depends upon 
food, air, water, and heat. Mind depends on a nervous 
system and its organization ; and these in turn depend on 
food, heredity, and so on. Heat and light cause chemical 
changes, and chemical changes cause physical changes. 



52 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But this 
movement 
toward 
physics 
dare not 
identify 
the two 
classes. 

Reduction 
of the 
secondary 
to the 
primary 
qualities 
does not 
mean identi- 
fication. 

Therefore 
the second- 
ary qualities 
still remain 
to he 
interpreted. 

We must 
find the 
relations 
obtaining 
between the 
primary and 
the second- 
ary 

qualities, 
and the 
relations 
between 
secondary 
and second- 
ary through 
the medium 
of the 
primary. 



From beginning to end the things of nature, their changes 
and their properties, are interrelated. Therefore we must 
find some ultimate properties in terms of which we can 
compare them and measure them. These properties are 
the primary ones» and to the primary ones, therefore, 
science will have to go.^ 

But here philosophy cries out, "Beware." No amount 
of convenience will ever reduce one quality to another 
in the sense of identifying two things that are different. 
To identify color and ether vibrations, to call a sensation 
the very same event as a molecular motion in a brain, is 
sheer nonsense and naught else. In short, cries the phi- 
losopher, you scientists are no doubt justified in making 
physics in part your ideal; but beware, only in part. 
The real world that you attempt to interpret is a world 
inlinitely rich in qualities. It is not the world of the 
primary qualities, but the world of both primary and 
secondary. The secondary are there; they are real, and, 
as such, they demand an interpretation. 

What then will form the ideal of science from this point 
of view? As we shall see later, the work of science 
and all knowledge is to discover the laws of the world; 
and we mean by laws the uniformities of coexistence and 
sequence. That is, science is called upon to tell us under 
what necessary conditions, or circumstances, any given 
thing, quality, or change will be found to exist. These 
conditions, or circumstances, must of course be made up 
of other things, qualities, or changes ; and, further, they 
must either precede or exist along with the thing, quality, 
or chano-e whose law we seek. Hence the answer to 
science's questions would be to tell us of all the laws of 
nature or all the uniformities of coexistence and sequence 

1 Without trespassing upon the field of physics, this seems to refute 
the position taken by the so-called "Energetik" school as a final or 
ultimate view. But the conflict between the two positions seems, to an 
outsider at least, superficial and therefore reconcilable. 



THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 53 

in nature. Now, even if science had succeeded in deter- 
mining all the uniformities of coexistence and sequence 
among the primary qualities, there would still remain a 
problem ere she would have fulfilled her ideal. She must 
not ignore the secondary qualities, but must then find the 
laws of uniformity between the primary qualities as such 
and the secondary as such. 

Perhaps the statement will be clearer if we give an 
imaginary example. Supposing our information to be 
adequate and the folloAving problem to be given us. If 
we mix these various pigments and let a given amount of 
sunlight fall upon them for a thousand hours, what will 
be the resulting color? First, we shall have to ask our- 
selves (of course our hypothesis of adequate information 
must be kept in view throughout). What is the exact 
coexisting state of affairs among the primary qualities, or 
the accompanying purely physical circumstances ? These 
and likewise all other conditions being given in terms of 
physics, we should have a purely mathematical problem 
to determine the result in physical terms. When we 
have gotten this, we must inquire, What secondary 
qualities, or color would be the result, namel}^ would 
coexist with precisely these physical conditions. Thus, 
in an ideal state of science, in determining the law of rela- 
tion between two sets of secondary qualities, we should 
first determine the uniformities of coexistence between 
each set and their physical accompaniment, and then de- 
termine the law obtaining between the two sets of physi- 
cal phenomena. This would show in the presence of what 
conditions, namely, secondarj^ qualities, other secondary 
qualities would make their appearance. 

In short, the ideal of science would be to know all the 
uniformities of coexistence and sequence between physical 
phenomena and all the uniformities of coexistence between 
physical phenomena and secondary qualities, and then to 
be able to calculate, by means of our physical knowledge, 



54 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



IV. All this 
leads us 
toward the 
Mechanical 
Theory as 
an Ideal of 
Science. 
A Summary 
of this 
theory. 



the uniformities between secondary and secondary. The 
complete tendency of science is not merely to reduce 
all secondary qualities to primary or to phj^sicize all 
science, but to determine sociological, biological, and 
chemical laws by means of physical laws. An ideally 
complete physics would enable us to calculate the future 
with exactness. Therefore, could we but determine the 
uniformity between the other phenomena and the physical, 
we should have in physics a means of calculating, with 
like exactness, the future of society, of our bodily states, 
and of chemical changes. The ideal of science, then, is to 
learn completely and exactly all uniformities of coexist- 
ence and sequence between all phenomena; and the means 
to do so is an ideally perfect physical science and an 
ideally perfect knowledge of the relations between physi- 
cal and other phenomena. And all this is true because 
physical phenomena, or the primary qualities, lend them- 
selves directly to mathematical calculation as the second- 
ary qualities do not. The primary are commensurate and 
the secondary are not, hence our result. 

Reducing as science does the secondary qualities to 
primary, and picturing the world as a world of primary 
qualities, we get the so-called mechanical theory of nature. 
The mechanical theory we may sum up briefly as follows : — 

The fact that the primary qualities are constant makes 
it possible to reduce all their changes to the movement of 
constants. This fact has enabled science to apply mathe- 
matics most successfully to all the phenomena of the phys- 
ical world. There has thus been built up a mechanical 
theory of matter based on the axiom that the motion and 
mass of the universe are constant, and that mass under- 
going motion obeys the law of inertia. Moreover, any 
given mass of matter is of course, since it occupies space, 
an aggregate of smaller masses of matter. As a conse- 
quence, we find science trying to determine what are the 
ultimate components of any given mass of matter. This 



THE PRIMAEY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 55 

ultimate component was called in the ancient world an 
atom, or indivisible particle. We feel that in spite of 
our inability to analyze the chemical atom, still, theoreti- 
cally, it is composed of parts, and that if we could discover 
these parts we should be able to reduce the present sev- 
enty or more elements to a smaller number, and perhaps 
ultimately reduce them to one. But in that case what 
would become of those characteristics which now differ- 
entiate one element from another? The answer to this 
question is : Just as the qualities of the object revealed to 
our senses are reduced to the activities of the chemical 
atoms or to the vibrations of imponderable bodies, reflected 
by these atoms, so now the qualities of the chemical atom 
will ultimately be reduced to different arrangements or 
motions of the ultimate atom. Thus we would picture 
a world composed ultimately of one type of matter; and 
all differences of quality that appear to exist would be 
reduced to motions and arrangements of this ultimate 
entity. In this way nature ceases to be anything but 
mass and motion, and therefore a system all of whose 
changes may be expressed in mathematical terms. And 
the atom of chemistry is but a combination of ultimate 
physical atoms. Just as those qualities that distinguish 
one chemical element from another are reduced to quanti- 
tative changes, so also, when we come to distinguish be- 
tween the inorganic and the organic world of life, are the 
unlikenesses that science finds here, reduced in like man- 
ner to differences in some common element. In this way 
science has come to the conclusion that there is no true 
gap between the organic and the inorganic any more than 
there is a gap i)etween one chemical element and another; 
all the transformations of the world and all its rich- 
ness in qualities are reduced to quantitative relations in 
one ultimate form of matter. Now, since there is ulti- 
mately but one form of matter going though various trans- 
formations, it must follow that all changes in the universe 



56 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

are but changes in these transformations ; and that there- 
fore, however complex the result may be, or may seem 
to be, it could arise wherever the given transformations 
themselves could arise. Life, and the highest forms of 
life, can thus be conceived merely as very complicated 
forms of the simpler types of physical manifestations that 
we find all about us. The passage, then, from star-dust 
to the brain of man is merely a change in the arrangement 
of particles of matter. The doctrine of evolution made 
possible by this view has in truth been formulated. In 
this formulation we are told that the cosmic dust has 
become integrated, and in so doing has undergone a 
rearrangement of its parts. Thus have arisen our solar 
system, the transformations in the surface of the earth. 
Thus have arisen the vegetable and animal worlds. Thus 
has arisen the complicated nervous structure of the higher 
vertebrates, including man. Thus too have arisen the 
phenomena we call social. All these changes are but 
the rearrangement of particles, and all follow a general 
law by which the objects whose changes they are become 
more complicated in structure, grow old, and, in a process 
of dissolution, lose their complicated structure, and so 
pass away. 

We have now before us a general picture of the world 
of nature as portrayed by science. A great mass of quali- 
ties are set aside by science because of their non-perma- 
nent character, and the permanent characteristics are 
identified with the changes of fundamental entities. So 
the world is composed of substances undergoing an infini- 
tude of changes, but throughout these changes retaining 
certain permanent characteristics. This world exists in 
a boundless space and extends backward and forward 
through the course of infinite time. 




CHAPTER V 

THINGS AND THEIR QUALITIES: SUBSTANCE ^ 

Thus far we have been talking of qualities, and have 
said very little of the things that have the qualities, or 
in which the qualities inhere. Yet it is a very serious 
and difficult metaphysical problem to answer precisely 
these questions, What is meant by a thing and its qualities ? 
and what is the relation between the two ? However, we 
need not concern ourselves at this point with the problem 
more than superficially, for we shall fulfil the needs of 
our present discussion by talking of things and qualities 
just as we are accustomed to talk of them in everyday life. 

The world of nature is made up of things, and each The world 
thing- has an indefinite number of qualities and may be ^s made up 

° , -*• ^ -^ of things ; 

studied from so very many points of view that to explore and to be a 

Cto use a more inclusive term) all its characteristics ti"ng means 
^ ... to lead, to 

seems an endless task. Sometimes it gives us some some extent 

trouble to determine iust what is required to make a things ft ^^^^t, an 

J i '^ mdepen- 

a thing ; and often no doubt the use of the term ' thing ' dent exist- 
varies in many ways. In general, we may say that a ^^^^' 
thing is some being, or reality, that can be separated 
from others and considered by itself. The word seems 
to imply a sort of independence. As we look out of our 
window we see the trees, the houses, the horses, the men, 
the stones, the fences ; and we call them things. Evi- 
dently a house or a horse, a man or a stone, is a thing 
because there is present a certain cohesion of parts or 

1 The topic of this chapter will be considered more critically in a 
later chapter (XXV). In this chapter we keep very close to the popular 
view of nature. 

57 



58 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This 
indepen- 
dence of 
existence 
means 
tliat we can 
distinguish 
it from 



because we can change its location without seriously 
altering either it or any of the surrounding things. They 
stand out so distinctly from the remainder of what we see, 
they are so independent. But when we turn our attention 
elsewhere, the difficulty of determining whether something 
is a thing or not increases. As we look from our window 
the lawn is a thing by itself, but somehow it is harder to 
call each blade of grass a thing. From a distance we 
are rather liable to regard the whole grass plot as the 
thing and each blade as only a part. Still, if we plucked 
a blade we should surely look on it as a thing all by itself. 
To take another example, we can hardly separate a puddle 
of water except in thought from its surroundings. But 
still the fact that we can do so, justifies us in calling it a 
thing. Yet why stop here ? It is composed of thousands 
and thousands of drops of water that fell as rain upon the 
ground at tliat point, or near by. Such drops of water 
we can now take from the puddle, and each looked at and 
considered by itself seems to have just as much right to 
be called a thing as the puddle did. Yet, again, why 
stop here? We might analyze the water chemically; and 
we are told the result would be a large number of so- 
called atoms of hydrogen and oxygen in the form of two 
gases. But is not each of these atoms a thing, if we 
consider it all by itself? We have to answer, Yes. 
Thus we come to a conclusion something like this. 
We are at liberty to divide up the world in all sorts of 
ways and consider each part a thing by itself if that part 
be of sufficient importance to be made by itself the object 
of our thought or attention. 

But what is it that gives the thing its independence or 
that enables our minds to consider it by itself? Clearly 
it must be the fact that we can distinguish the thing in 
some w&j from other things. This we can do by finding 
some difference between it and them in quality. Or 
we might employ their difference in location either in 



THINGS AND THEIR QUALITIES: SUBSTANCE 59 

space or in time. Thus, I may have on a table two billiard other 
balls exactly alike, as far as my eyes tell me; but I can through its 
easily distinguish them by their positions on the table, qualities, 
You might mix them up when I am not looking so that I temporal" 
could not tell Ball A from Ball B. But even in this case existence. 
I should at once make a new distinction on the basis of 
their new positions, and should not for a moment be 
in doubt whether to call them two things or not. Like- 
wise we may distinguish between two things by their 
location in time. Are the leaves now on the trees the 
same as those there last year ? Clearly not, even though 
I can distinguish them only in time. The fact that 
there were leaves last year, the fact that ail those leaves 
fell off the tree in the autumn and remained off during 
the winter, and, finally, the fact that these new leaves 
started first as buds and gradually grew and expanded 
into leaves, these facts justify us in distinguishing the 
leaf of to-day as a thing by itself distinct from the leaf 
of last year. Thus we distinguish things by their quali- 
ties, place, or time; and we find in this distinction the 
proof of their independent existence. It is in this way 
we can regard each by itself, making each a distinct object 
of our thought. 

Still all this does not quite satisfy us. The thing is Yet there is 
more than the mere qualities, it is more than mere loca- distinction 
tion in time and space. It is, besides all this, in a pecul- possessed by 
iar sense the possessor of the qualities. They belong to xheVail^' 
it, they inhere in it. Apart from it they could not have substantial. 
any being. Who ever saw the red color run away from 
the flag and exist merely as a quality all by itself ? Color 
is always a quality of a thing, and is itself never a thing. 
Heat likewise, so also length and duration. The thing is 
long, or the thing lasts long. The thing moves. Who 
ever saw a motion that was not the motion of a thing? 

So we cannot say that the thing is exhausted when 
we tell its qualities and relations; there is some other 



60 



INTRODUCTION TO nilLOSOPHY 



Their sub- 
stance 
determines 
their quali- 
ties. 



This is 

clearly 

implied in 

the 

chemical 

composition 

of things. 



But whither 
does this 
conception 
of Sub- 
stance lead 
us? 

Substance 
as the 
determiner 
of quality 
leads us by 
analysis to 
one 

universal 
substance in 
nature, i.e. 
Matter. 



element in it, to make it what it is. This other element 
is substance. Every thing is a substance and it has the 
qualities it does have because it is just the very nature 
of that particular substance under those particular cir- 
cumstances to have just those qualities. Thus we ask of 
what substance the house yonder is made. We get the 
answer, wood or brick or stone,* and at once attribute to 
the house certain qualities belonging to such a substance. 
So likewise if we ask of what substance is this ring. It 
may be brass, gold, silver, iron, or what not ; and it will 
have qualities accordingly. In fact, a better way of 
expressing ourselves would be to say, that it is only by 
a study of the qualities of a thing that we determine its 
substance or substances; and, in a rough way, we mean 
by the substance that which, figuratively speaking, lies 
back of the qualities, that in which they exist, or, better, 
that which gives them their existence, that without which 
they would not be. 

As has been already stated, the realm of ponderable 
nature has been found by chemistry to be made up of about 
seventy distinct chemical substances, or elements. As a 
consequence, all things have the qualities they have 
because of the substances of which they are chemically 
composed, and because of the action of imponderable or 
non-chemical entities upon the things in question. 

But why have we cbme to regard these elements as sub- 
stances ? In older dnjs tlie substances were believed to 
be earth, air, fire, and water. Why did we give up call- 
ing these substances ? Evidently the answer is. We could 
analyze them, that is, we could separate them into parts 
each having different properties from those of the original 
earth, air, or water. Or, on the other hand, we have 
been able to identify two seemingly different phenomena, 
and so to regard thera as manifestations, or activities, of 
the same substance or substances. Thus fire has come to 
be for us only a manifestation of light connected with cer- 



THINGS AND THEIR QUALITIES: SUBSTANCE 61 

tain forms of oxidation. Thus, could we but analyze 
oxygen or any other chemical element, we should cease to 
regard it as a substance on the same plane as heretofore. 
Of course we do speak in a broader sense of substances, 
including brass, clay, chalk, lime, paper, wood, or any 
general type of thing having qualities. But the tendency 
is to regard as true substances only such as resist all 
further analysis. Yet even here we do not find a true 
stopping-place ; for although the chemical elements resist 
further analysis, still we believe that they are compounds, 
or theoretically analyzable. The belief arises, that could 
we but discover a method of analysis, we should be able to 
reduce the number of chemical elements perhaps even back 
to one general element, and that all other elements are 
various combinations of the atoms of one such primitive 
element, just as objects about us are various compounds of 
the chemical elements. So, finally, we come to the belief 
that there may be ultimately but the one true primary 
substance back of all the secondary substances, and this 
substance we call matter. 

But let us see the consequences of our analysis. We 
have found that as the result of chemical analysis a great 
many of the secondary qualities are regarded as merely 
apparent; that is, could we take all the qualities of the 
seventy elements, we should find a vastly less rich array of 
quality than we actually find now existing in the world 
about us. Further, could we reduce the number of ele- 
ments, we should expect to find, in turn, the new elements 
less rich in qualities than the old. In short, could chem- 
istry reach its ideal we should have a substance, or chemical 
element, having only the primary qualities. Thus, as we 
have seen, we should have chemistry turn, in part at least, 
into a science of molecular physics. Still otherwise put, 
the ultimate chemical element promises to be the abstract 
matter of physics, a substance having only the primary qual- 
ities, a substance having extension and undergoing motion. 



62 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But Matter 

itself is a 

mere 

abstraction, 

still a 

justifiable 

one. 



Thus we may conclude that the substance of the world 
of nature is matter, and that all secondary qualities may- 
be reduced to differences in the primary qualities. But 
this result raises for us, as philosophers, a very serious 
problem. What have we to say about this substance, 
matter, this substance to which belong all the qualities of 
nature, or, if you will, of which all nature is but the mani- 
festation. Our discussion of the primary and secondary 
qualities has already shown us that in and for itself no 
such thing exists as this abstract matter with only the 
primary qualities. The real world, the world that is, is 
the world revealed to our senses with its indefinite rich- 
ness of quality. The secondary qualities are there and 
they exist, and hence no reasoning of ours can make them 
aught but part of reality. 

But we have seen that science tends, for very good 
reasons, to disregard the secondary qualities or to study 
them in terms of primary qualities. Thus it comes about 
that science has built up only a convenient abstraction 
in its conception of matter as deprived quite of the in- 
numerable secondary qualities. Yet, as we have seen, 
science is justified in so doing; but it were false science 
indeed, did we forget that we are considering only a part, 
and not the whole. The real matter, or substance, of the 
world of nature is thus one that manifests itself in an 
indefinite richness of quality; and therefore the matter 
of the physicist is a mere abstraction that is only a means 
of studying certain general laws of the real matter, 
this bearer of indefinite qualities. Hence this conclu- 
sion: the matter of physics is onl}^ an abstraction and 
not a reality. But do not for an instant think that 
this means a questioning of the truth of the results 
of physics. Not in the least. As we saw, physics 
has to deal with abstractions. The matter of physics 
is matter robbed of all but its universal, or perma- 
nent attributes, and its other attributes are reduced to, 



THINGS AND THEIR QUALITIES: SUBSTANCE 63 

or expressed in, terms of variations in the permanent 
attributes. 

Should we then discard the theory that nature is com- 
posed of one substance, — matter, — and go back to the 
view a long time held that there are several substances ? 
Clearly not. Substance has come to mean for us just that 
which resists our ability to analyze ; and did we return to 
the other view our quarrel would be merely one of words. 
There are things that we can analyze in the chemical labo- 
ratory; then there are things we cannot. Again, these 
very things, although chemically elements, are not physi- 
cally to be regarded as unanalyzable. Finally, only that 
is unanalyzable, or irreducible to something having 
different properties, which has been so robbed of all its 
qualities that only necessary or universal ones are left. 
This and this alone can be substance in the sense of the 
unanalyzable. On the other hand, however, we should do 
wrong did we come to the conclusion that nature is in 
reality that ghostlike world of physical abstraction. Such 
a conclusion would be as absurd as to say that the real 
world is only that which is described by our text-books 
of geometry. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE ATOMIC THEORY ^ 

All material RiGHT in connection with the question of analj^sis we 
ibi"fn/'^^^' co^^^ upon another pliilosophical problem. The word 
parts. " analysis " may be used in the different sense of division 

into geometrical parts. Thus we find that we can divide an 
apple indefinitely by a chopping machine. In the chemi- 
cal laboratory we can carry on the division still farther. 
In this way the whole ponderable world has come to seem 
to us theoretically divisible, not merely into the elements 
oxygen, hydrogen, and the others, but into those little 
particles of oxygen and hydrogen that are called atoms. 
Thus we are told the ponderable world is made up of 
atoms. Moreover, we must not here forget the imponder- 
able world, — the world of the ether. It, too, must be 
supposed to be made up of particles. In fact, the chemi- 
cal atoms themselves may be regarded as highly complex, 
that is, composed of more primitive atoms. No doubt 
physics may finally adopt some such theory of the chemi- 
cal atoms as Lord Kelvin's vortex theory, or some theory 
attempting to explain the properties of the chemical atoms 
out of the complexity of their structure. 

1 Literature. Tor History of the Atomic Theory, cf. Chapters XXVII 
and LVII. 

Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 145-158. 

Weber, History of Philosophy, pp. 55-58. 

Stallo, Concepts and Theories of Modern Physics, Chapter VII. 

Lasswitz, Geschichte der Atomistik. 2 vols. Hamburg and Leipzig, 

1890. 
Lange, History of Materialism. 3 vols. Translated by E. C. Thomas. 

Loudon, 1878-81. (Geschichte des Materialismus.. 6'^ Aufl. Bear- 

beitet von H. Cohen. 2 vols. 1898.) 
64 



THE ATOMIC THEORY 65 

Here we, as philosophers, step into the argument, and Has this 
ask: What if physics should be able to reduce all known a^il^^t'^ud 
physical phenomena to the motions of certain primitive, what is its 
or ultimate, atoms; would physics rightly rest satisfied ^^^^^9 
at that point, or may there not be here some deeper 
principle that is impelling the physicist toward a never 
ending process of division? Let us see. 

Why does the chemist go beyond the ancient thinker in The purpose 
dividing things up into chemical atoms? The answer is, of t^^'^^^'- 

o t> L ' sion IS ex- 

Because by so doing he can explain certain phenomena pianation. 
that the ancient thinker could not explain. 

We have just emphasized the word "explain." What 
does it mean? We shall have to wait till later in our 
discussion to determine its full meaning; but at present 
let us say, that to explain a phenomenon is to account for 
it by bringing it under some general law. Thus, to ex- 
plain why wood will burn under conditions where stone 
will not, we give the chemical composition of wood and 
appeal to certain laws holding of such a compound. To 
explain why we need to breathe air in order to live, we 
show how the vital processes are all a form of oxidation, 
and that the air forms the chief source for supplying the 
oxygen necessary to perform this work in our body. But 
to return, we divide things up when we can by so doing 
get at things, or atoms, that obey a more general law than 
did the unanalyzed thing; since in this way we can 
account for the phenomenon in question by showing that 
it is an example of the general laws true of the thing's 
constituent parts. Thus, when we know that our nerve 
centres have a large amount of energy held in unstable 
equilibrium, and also that gunpowder and dynamite have 
the same, we account for this, in part, when we learn 
that they are all rich in the element nitrogen and that the 
presence of this element accounts, in part at least, for the 
large amount of energy. 

Now let us see from all that has gone before what will 



66 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOniY 



This divi- 
sion must 
continue as 
long as we 
seek expla- 
nation. 



be the tendency of a progressive explanation of nature's 
phenomena. Sometimes it is enough to say the explosion 
was caused by gunpowder. The carpet was faded by sun- 
light. The water boiled because it was put upon the fire. 
The man died because his heart stopped beating. A cer- 
tain country is populous because of the great fertility of 
its soil. But the moment we want more accurate explana- 
tions, we keep asking, Avhy does fire boil water, why do we 
die when our heart stops beating, why does gunpowder do 
such damage? The answer to such a "why" is always 
an appeal, as we have just said, to a more general law. 
Sooner or later our "whys" bring us to those laws we 
call chemical laws, or toward them. But when we have 
reached chemical laws, what next? Why do oxygen and 
hydrogen have such an affinity for each other, and so on 
through "why" after "why" that the chemist sooner or 
later has to ask himself. Why does this element be- 
have thus, and another so? The answer to this ques- 
tion can be only in terms of some more general law, 
namely, a physical law. But to be able to secure that 
answer, the chemical atoms must be split up into more 
primitive atoms, just as our body, or the gunpowder, 
or the water, had to be split up into chemical atoms 
to have their conduct explained in terms of chemical 
laws. 

In short, we have to regard an object that must be brought 
under some higher law to explain its activities as com- 
posed of atoms of some sort. In sociology the atom is the 
individual human being, especially the individual mind. 
Therefore the sociologist goes to the general psychology 
of the mind to find the more general laws that are to 
explain social phenomena. Again, the conduct of human 
beings is directed by their nervous systems. We analyze 
the nervous system into parts, or "atoms," in the neurons; 
and we believe that were our information about these 
neurons sufficient, we could bring all direction of mus- 



THE ATOMIC THEORY 67 

cular contraction under the general laws of the activity 
of these neurons. Likewise, in biology, could we only 
work out the chemistry of all forms of protoplasm, we 
should be able to explain all vital phenomena through the 
more general laws of chemistry. But now comes chem- 
istry; and we try to push it under physical laws, and to 
do so. we must divide up the atom. In short, to reduce 
to a more general type means to divide into some sort of 
atoms ; and the process will theoretically never stop until 
we have reached a world in which the "atoms" are all 
alike, act all alike, in which all variety of activity has 
completely disappeared. The moment one activity is dif- 
ferent from another we shall raise the question, Why? 
Then will have to commence again the work of analysis ; 
and we shall have to divide into parts or seek for some 
more primitive atom. 

Moreover, if our atom ever acts differently on one occa- Further as 
sion from another, we shall again have to ask why, and o'^'^f^t ^if^^ 
again we must have more primitive atoms. Thus the fers from 
only true atom will be one like every other atom in the thdr^struc- 
universe, that acts like every other, and always acts in ture will be 
the same way. In short, we shall theoretically be able to * ^'^^ ^^' 
stop only when our reduction has removed all differences 
from nature. Therefore the ultimate atom is that thing 
whose activity is an example, and only an example, of 
the most general kind of activity in nature. 

Then again, there is another point of view from which Likewise 
we may regard the nature of the atom. Any body that ^^fj^^j^^t^^r* 
has motion taking place within it at once raises a problem, nai activity 
namely, calls for an explanation of its internal structure problem of 
and the resulting activities. For instance, a watch calls structure. 
for an explanation to a greater degree than does a pebble 
because of its internal movements — to a greater degree 
just because its motions attract our attention. So, also, 
with a living human body. In a similar way, the moment 
that we realize that a chemical atom is not merely a sort 



68 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Thus the 
ultimate 
atom must 
have only a 
simple ac- 
tivity and 
no internal 
activity. 



of football thrown about by other atoms, but that it has 
activities all its own, and that these activities seem to be 
more than merely a passage of the whole atom back and 
forth in space, in short, as soon as we believe that activi- 
ties take place within the atom, we at once feel drawn 
into a new problem, namely, a problem of structure. If 
a chemical atom never had any internal activity, if, in 
short, its internal structure played no part in chemical 
phenomena, we should neglect the problem of internal 
structure — for the world at large would be just as well 
explained as if we attacked it and solved it. But the 
question at once arises, Can we ever find an instance of 
activity in the whole realm of nature in which the inter- 
nal structure of each body taking part in the phenomenon 
does not play some r81e ? Surely, in as far as all matter 
is elastic, it does play a role, and thus there is a problem 
of structure. 

Now what do we mean by a problem of structure ? We 
mean, ultimately, that activities are taking place within 
the body that demand explanation ; and explanation always 
means, as we have seen, that we must seek for some 
higher, or more general, law or laws under which we can 
put the activity in question. But searching for such a 
higher law is, we have seen, after all doing nothing more 
nor less than splitting up the given body into parts, study- 
ing the motion of each part by itself, and regarding it as 
an instance of the working of the higher law. Thus, 
wherever there is any internal activity we must, theoreti- 
cally, refuse to find a true atom. The true atom therefore 
has no internal activities. 

Thus we find two general truths concerning the ulti- 
mate atom. Its activity must be, in the view of our intel- 
ligence, a simple activity, namely, an activity that is only 
an example of the most general kind of nature's activity; 
for any other activity we should tend to analyze into a 
more general one. Secondly, the atom must have no in- 



THE ATOMIC THEORY 69 

ternal activity. Such, is the true atom toward which 
science tends, and no other atom will wholly suit the 
demands of our intellect for a complete explanation. 

Yet right here comes up a new problem. Supposing This implies 
any body or particle of matter has length, breadth, and i°*iii"ectiy 
thickness, but has not, as far as the most delicate observa- atom is only 
tion finds, any internal activity ; should we rest satisfied ^^^^^j*^^^" 
that this particle was in truth a real atom? We should point. 
no doubt have to answer. No. We should never theo- 
retically rest satisfied that no internal activity took place 
within it. We should always be on the lookout, and the 
mere negative evidence, "No activity yet in sight," would 
never theoretically release us from further search. Our 
atom would be practically a true atom for all scientific 
work or explanation, but always an object of theoretical 
suspicion. We should be ready any day to get the news 
that some internal activity had been discovered. In fact, 
then, our intelligence would never rest assured of the 
non-existence of internal activity so long as our atom did 
have any length, breadth, and thickness. Therefore the 
theoretically true atom must be a mathematical point. 
Anything else raises the question of parts and, therefore, 
of internal activity, or motion, between these parts, and 
the mathematical point alone is free from every suspicion 
of internal activity. 

But is this the reductio ad ahsurdum of the atomic Does this 
theory? We answer, "% no means," but add the qualify- ^^j'^^^J^ ^"^ 
ing clause, "In so far as it is an instrument to analyze theory? 
and explain, or bring- under higher laws, the activities of '^^^ ^f ^, 

■*- ' _ c> & ' mere mstru- 

nature." It is, however, the reductio ad ahsurdum of the mentof ex- 
atomic theory in case we mean thereby a full description P^anation. 
of the actual concrete world. 

So much for the justification of the atomic theory as a 
formulation of nature's laws. What next do we say in 
opposition to the atomic theory as a description of the 
facts in their t.otality, as actually existing concrete facts 



70 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Only in case 
the atomic 
theory 
claims to be 
a descrip- 
tion of the 
concrete 
thing. 



1. The qual- 
ities of 
things can 
never he the 
mere arith- 
metical sum 
of quantita- 
tive charac- 
teristics, or 
atomic prop- 
erties. 



of indefinite variety, richness of content, and change? 
There are two quite fatal objections to the atomic theory 
in this latter use. First, can we actually build up the 
real world revealed to our minds out of atoms, with nothing 
else assumed? In short, can nature really be made up of 
atoms and nothing more, or is there not something more 
that is not contained in the atomist's premises ? Secondly, 
can we rightly grant the atomist even as much as our first 
objection allows? Does there and could there exist in 
very truth such a thing as an atom ? 

Let us consider the first objection. Grant him his 
atoms, what then? We have simply a case something 
like this. There on the lot lie heaped a great pile of 
bricks, barrels of cement, lime, sand, stones, boards of all 
sorts, lead pipe, slate, shingles, doors, and other pieces 
of woodwork. Now let us see you construct the house. 
Ah, you say, all we have to do is to set the artisans to 
work and the house will be built. But hold! All we 
granted was the material. Now let us see you make up 
your house or your world. You can't do it. A house 
is not merely bricks, woodwork, and mortar. It is all 
these in very definite relations; and if you are merely 
given the material without the intelligence and power to 
bring that material properly together, you will never have 
a house, not in the wide world. A house is not a heap 
of bricks, nor is a world a heap of atoms. There are 
thousands of characteristics and qualities in a house that 
no mere heap of bricks has. The world is an indefinite 
system of relations that no mere heap of atoms possesses. 
In our atoms we have the simple activities, say a, 5, c, d. 
Now an indefinite multiplying of a, b, c, d does not give 
you more than n times a, J, c, d. It does not give you 
the activities a:, y, z. Or to take a concrete instance. Our 
opponent asks. Can we not unite atoms of oxygen and 
hydrogen together and have water ? Can we not do it, 
as a matter of fact, right here in this our very laboratory, 



THE ATOMIC THEORY 71 

right here in this jar on our table? But, Mr. Opponent, 
not so quickly! There is a serious ambiguity in your 
question. Remember, in one sense both you and we are 
equally atomists. You can make just the experiment you 
suggest. We have as little doubt about that as have you. 
That the chemical laws hold of nature, and all ponder- 
able bodies therein, we are no more disposed to doubt than 
are you. That, however, is not our question. We ask. 
Will the water be merely the arithmetical sum of all that 
you have in the jar? We answer, No, for otherwise there 
would have been water there from the very beginning, 
inasmuch as we granted you all your material at the start, 
just as we granted our friend the builder all his bricks 
and mortar. Now we are not merely quibbling with 
words, so please do not make that unjust accusation. 
Our one question runs. Is the water merely so many atoms 
of hydrogen and oxygen? If so, why do you have to do 
anything with the hydrogen and oxygen to make them 
water? Ah, you reply, of course we have to bring the 
hydrogen and oxygen and the electric spark into certain 
relations. But again we ask, Is water atoms of H + atoms 
of O + electric spark + their being in proper relations ? 
Not a bit of it. These will cause water. Under these 
conditions you will get water. But they are not water. 
Water has cei'tain qualities that you and I knoiv very well. 
Your atoms and so forth have them not. All you have done 
is to bring water into existence, and in a similar way you 
can take water out of existence and have a jar full of H 
and O gas. But H and O gas may be the cause of water, 
but, as a sheer piece of ordinary common sense, are they 
water? No more than a heap of bricks or ten or more 
workmen standing about with their tools are a house. 
The house is the finished article. So is the water; and 
the finished article is very different from the material plus 
the forces and so on that may make up the cause of the 
article. 



72 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The atomic 
theory is a 
law holding 
of facts, but 
such a law 
holdiug of a 
fact is not a 
description 
of the fact. 



2. Do atoms 
really exist 
or is the 
atom of 
necessity a 
mere ab- 
straction ? 



The entity is 
atomic not 
an atom ; 
just as the 
real mate- 
rial thing is 
triangular 
not a mere 
triangle. 



Thus, as a law of nature, or, rather, as a system of laws 
of cause and effect, the atomic theory works splendidly. 
But as a description of the facts as facts, of the world as 
world, it fails utterly. Water is water, and not a lot of 
atoms. You can by certain laws turn water into gases or 
gases into water. But in this case the water goes out of 
existence, and a very different fact, a fact, in short, Vvdiose 
description is very different, has taken its place. 

The error, then, of the atomist from this point of view 
is that he has mistaken a law of nature for a complete 
description of nature. The laws of chemistry and physics 
hold of nature. Of course they do. But they are not 
and never will be a complete description of nature. Nature 
is more than what is described in our works on chemistry 
and physics. Nature is more than abstract laws. 

But let us turn to the second objection. Are there in 
truth actually existing entities called atoms? Is an atom 
an existing entity or is it a mere abstraction? 

Perhaps it will be easier for the reader if we state first 
what we do believe, and then afterward show why the 
other view seems untenable. 

We all speak of triangles, of lines, of planes. Are 
there really such things ? What is a line ? It has no 
breadth or thickness. Did we, could we, ever see such 
a thing? Of course we have to answer. No. Yv^hat we 
have seen are objects, such as telegraph wires, or railroad 
tracks, where the chief characteristic to which we give 
our attention and interest is their length, and accordingly 
we call them lines. So, also, we see this or that piece 
of land and call it a square, a circle, or a triangle. Do 
we really mean that it is only a triangle in the strict geo- 
metrical sense? Of course not. We mean its shape is 
triangular. That to measure its area we can measure its 
base and altitude and then multiply one by half of the 
other and get our desired result. In short, when we call 
this or that object, a line, a point, a triangle, we mean 



THE ATOMIC THEOEY 73 

tliat certain geometrical properties are possessed by them; 
that certain geometrical laws hold of them. Or, again, to 
use a more extreme case, if we say, " There are five hun- 
dred present," we do not mean that what is present is a 
mere sum of arithmetical units. We mean that we can 
count: men and regard each man as a unit. Thus, arith- 
metic and geometry deal with abstractions. There are in 
this world no such real entities, or things, as mere arith- 
metical units or mere geometrical triangles. There are 
things to which arithmetical laws can be applied, in short, 
that can be counted or treated as mere units. So, also, 
are there things in this world that are triangular, to which, 
we can apply the results of our geometry. Things, in 
short, that we may call triangles. So when we call a plot 
of land a triangle, we do not mean to be taken in all literal 
seriousness. What we wish to do is to call attention to 
its shape, to name that shape, to posit certain laws of 
area as holding of our land looked at from this particular 
point of view. 

Now we are not casting slurs upon geometry when we 
say it deals with mere abstractions ; nor do we mean that 
its results are less valuable. In fact, as we shall see later, 
the very value of geometry, or any science, rests right in 
the fact that it deals with abstractions. But what is true 
of geometrjr is true of all other sciences, and especially 
true of the more abstract ones, such as physics and chem- 
istry. They deal with abstractions, and the so-called atom 
is an abstraction just as is the triangle of geometry. It 
is not such a high abstraction ; or, in terms of logic, it 
has as a concept more intension, or connotes more quali- 
ties. But none the less it is an abstraction. Just as 
there are in reality no such things as mere triangles, so, 
also, are there no such things as atoms, not even chemical 
atoms. Now this may seem an outrageous thing to say. 
But truly it is not; truly we are not, even to a hair's 
breadth, calling one physical or chemical doctrine into 



74 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

question, any more than we call geometry into question. 
But you ask, "If chemical atoms, or any atoms, do not 
exist, what does?" We answer: Just as there are tri- 
angular things ; namely, things having the properties of 
triangles, so also are there things of which the atomic 
laws hold. We may call them atoms, but what we mean 
is, they are atomic. A mere triangle does not exist, nor 
does a mere atom. In the concrete reality we have tri- 
angular and atomic properties, but to forget that a piece 
of land is more than a mere triangle is no worse than to 
say that this object is made up of mere atoms. In reality 
it is vastly more than this; aud should we forget this 
truth, we have turned a mere abstraction into a concrete 
reality, a mere ghost of a thing into the actual thing. 
Hence our conclusion: There are atoms only in the sense 
that these are things which obey the laws taught us by 
physics and chemistry. These sciences, like geometry, 
and like all sciences, treat of abstractions, and try to find 
out the laws of special properties considered by themselves, 
that is, abstracted from the concrete thing. 
To serve the It remains for us to show that this is true of the atomic 

purpose of theory. Are atoms mere abstractions ? First, we have 
the atomic -^ _ 

theory the Seen that an atom is not merely a part, but differs from a 
be°rmere* i^ei'© part by having its own peculiar qualities and laws 
abstraction, quite distinct from those of the compound, in whose 
complex structure it forms an element. We found that 
the atoms, or the final results of analysis, form a means of 
explanation only in so far as they have different, that is, 
in their case, more general, characteristics than has the 
compound. They are not merely parts in the sense a 
chip is part of a block ; but they are parts in the further 
sense of being simpler structures entering into it. But 
here we have to ask. How does the chemist know that 
his atoms are simpler than the molecules ? Supposing 
that we should maintain that the molecules, and also the 
atoms, were infinitely complex ; how, then, could we com- 



THE ATOMIC THEORY 75 

pare two entities infinitely complex, and say that one is 
more complex than the other? Is infinity less when a 
million is subtracted? The question is really absurd. 
Two indefinites or two infinites are not comparable. But 
yet the chemist does know that his atoms are simpler than 
his molecules. How does he know? Simply because he 
is comparing the one with the other only along certain 
lines ; not in every respect, for that were, as we shall see 
later, impossible. In short, he reduces all the varieties 
of things to different combinations of about seventy ele- 
mentary things ; precisely as we reduce written words to 
combinations of twenty-six letters, a, 6, e, c?, etc. His 
atom is simpler than the compound in which it occurs, 
because the compound contains it, and others also. Fur- 
ther, such an atom, like a letter, is simpler than the com- 
pound because the varieties of compounds are vastly, yes, 
perhaps infinitely, more numerous than are the varieties 
of atoms or the varieties of letters. 

But you ask. Where does the mere abstraction come in? 
"We answer in the assertion that all the letters, the a's or 
the 5's, or all the atoms, those of oxygen, or those of 
hj^drogen, are really alike. It is true, written words are 
composed of a, 5, e, etc., but for all we know there are no 
two concrete letters in the world alike. True, water is 
composed of particles, but who knows that any two of these 
are absolutely alike? They are alike chemically, it is 
true ; that is, they have certain definite properties in com- 
mon. But the moment you deny any difference between 
one and the other, you convert them both into mere ab- 
stractions ; and this is just what the atomist must do. Let 
us take an instance. Here is a herd of animals, and by ex- 
amination we find it composed of horses. So far all well 
and good; but supposing you deny any difference between 
any two horses in the world. Then your term " horse " has 
come to connote only certain common properties. There- 
fore to any one that believes that two individual horses will 



76 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

always be found to differ in some respects, your word 
"horse " is a mere abstract term. Hence, if you dogmati- 
cally refuse to admit any other properties in the concrete 
entity than you admit as connoted in your abstract term, 
then your concrete entity is no longer such, but a mere 
abstraction. An atom of oxygen is a mere abstraction if 
the chemist means that the connotation of the term sums 
up all the attributes of any given concrete atom or 
particle. 

But now for the second point. This abstraction is just 
what the atomist ultimately has to make. If his atoms 
have different characteristics, then his process of analysis 
is not complete; his atoms are not true atoms. If an 
atom of oxygen a and an atom of oxygen h differ, then we 
have before us a new problem of analysis. They cannot 
be for us any longer atoms. They themselves must be 
composed of more elementary atoms. • Now as long as we 
fail to find any difference between atom a and atom 5, they 
serve well enough as atoms. But what chemist would dare 
make the astounding assertion that each atom of oxygen is 
absolutely like every other atom of oxygen ? No matter 
where we may stop in our analj'sis, no matter what the 
atom may be, dare we say of it, it is like every other? 
No, we dare not any more than we dare say of a herd of 
horses, each horse is absolutely or exactly like every other. 
But yet to regard any elementar}^ entity, or entities, at 
any given stage of analysis, as atoms, means just this, 
that for our purpose they are all alike ; they are ultimate 
products of analysis. Thus for science's purpose we 
treat them all alike, and call them atoms ; we make them 
abstractions. When we say that nature is composed of 
particles called atoms, we mean we have analyzed until 
for our purpose analysis has gone far enough ; and then we 
treat the resultant entities as though they w^ere all alike. 
We ignore their differences and concern ourselves only 
with the common properties. We treat them, and may 



THE ATOMIC THEOEY 77 

rightly treat them for science's purpose, in a way that 
roakes them mere abstractions.^ 

In fact, we have at hand verification of tliis conclusion. The ulti- 
What can be ultimately an atom for physics but a moving ^^physi^^is 
point or an entity that physics treats as a moving point, clearly a 
no matter whether it be such or not? Now, that a moving gtraction. 
point is a mere abstraction, no sane mind that understood 
the statement would deny. Hence, since physics must 
ultimately regard any entity as a moving point, or else 
proceed to further analysis, the only true ultimate atom 
for science is a moving point, and therefore a mere ab- 
straction. Physics rightly refuses to consider the concrete 
entity as a concrete entity, but treats it as an atom, be- 
cause there is in any given case a limit to necessary 
analysis. As finite beings we have to stop our analysis 
somewhere ; and on this very account our atoms have to 
be mere abstractions, for these are the only sort of atoms 
that can serve the purpose of science. 

Must we, then, conclude that the world of nature is not 
composed of simple entities called atoms ? Once more 
we must warn ourselves against the ambiguity of this 
question. 

First, nature is for science an object of an indefinite 
amount of analysis. To interpret it we have to treat it 
as composed of simpler elements, and these simpler ele- 
ments are atoms. To do this, however, is an attempt to 
formulate the processes or activities of nature in abstract 
general laws. It is not an attempt to describe nature in 
all her completeness or with absolute concreteness. We 
are interested in things as class representatives. We do 
not concern ourselves with the individual peculiarities of 
every grain of sand on the seashore, but talk of the sand 
in general. The sand as a whole is of interest to us ; but 
our finite mind and our finite needs are satisfied if we 

1 Cf. the doctrine of Leibniz that every monad, or atom, must be in 
reality different from every other. 



78 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

neglect the individual grain and deal witli the sand more 
or less as a totality. So, as we shall see later, we always 
neglect the concrete thing and deal with it from the point 
of view of the class to which it belongs. This very law 
of our minds has led, as we have shown, to the atomic 
theory as a means of explaining things. 

But when we ask what is nature in the concrete, what 
is that reality science analyzes, dissects, or interprets in 
abstract terms, we are forced to say that we have no right 
to call it merely an aggregate of atoms. As our first dis- 
cussion showed, each thing is indefinitely rich in qualities. 
Each stands in an indefinite number of relations to other 
things. Instead of each thing, or object, being as poor 
in characteristics as is an abstract atom, it is just the 
opposite. The nearer we approach the concrete, or the 
reality, in the sum total of its characteristics, the richer 
it seems. ^ 

1 Thus we should say with Leibniz the real concrete atomic body (no 
matter where we stop our analysis) has an infinite number of activities 
or characteristics and would thus be in itself a whole world for further 
interpretation. 



CHAPTER VII 



MOTION 



Thus far we have dealt with matter and its constitution, Motion is an 
and so with the atomic theory. We come next to consider tj^fconcrete 
another element of nature, namely, motion. This topic isthemov- 
we can treat with greater brevity, because of the discus- ^^^ * ^^' 
sion that has preceded. 

First, by analysis, we separate in our thought the 
motion of a thing from the thing itself, and treat the 
motion as though it were a thing by itself. This abstrac- 
tion, like those which have been already considered, is 
also wholly justified by our intellectual needs and limita- 
tions. But when we reflect about our procedure, we must 
see that motion, like the atom, is a mere abstraction. 
There is no such concrete thing as motion. There are 
moving things^ but motion apart from the entity that moves, 
looked at in the concrete, is as absurd as the figure or shape 
of a thing regarded as an entity apart from the thing itself. 
Likewise, too, we can analyze a motion into a number of 
motions, as of course we do in physics. Here, again, we 
are abstracting. The motion of a thing is but one motion, 
if we keep near the concrete ; and the many motions mean 
that we have dissected the one motion. In short, matter 
and its motion in the concrete reality do not exist apart, are 
not two entities, but are merely different aspects of one and 
the same thing. The reality therefore is not the matter, nor 
is it the motion. It is that which includes in itself both; 
yes, and as we have seen, includes also innumerable other 
characteristics. 

79 



80 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

The problem The seconci and last problem that we shall consider re- 
ference of ' g^-r^-^ii^g motion is : Into what chief types can it be divided? 
motion from There is first motion, as possessed by any one moving body, 
body. ^ Next there is motion as it is communicated from one body 
to another; and this communication, or transference, of 
motion is said to take place in two different ways : by push- 
ing, or collision, and by attraction. 

Let us consider first the communication of motion by 
attraction. 
Attraction In our discussion of the atomic theory we saw that the 
regar^ded^s ^^^^ ultimate atom is a geometrical point, and that like- 
the ultimate wisc the atom in motion is a point moving along a 
of^uc'if ^°°^ straight line. The "atom of motion," then, is the motion 
transfer- ^ of a point, and is always in a straight line. Xo other 
itseifahvays motions satisfy the final demands of our analysis, 
an unsolved What, now, is the "atom" of the communication, or 
transference, of motion? We answer: One point coming 
into collision with another, and the one point losing 
motion and the other gaining as much motion as the 
former lost. But if this be the " atom " of the transference 
of motion, then all so-called attraction, or action at a 
distance, must be ultimately reducible to it. In short, 
wherever science explains anything as a result of " attrac- 
tion " and goes no farther, she has not yet solved the theo- 
retical problem; she has reached a practical solution, but 
there remains a theoretical problem nevertheless. Science 
will ever feel concerning such a result the need of further 
analysis. For example, we find that the phenomena of 
gravitation are not felt by science to be explained so long 
as we have to speak of these phenomena in terms of attrac- 
tion between two bodies. We find already an hypotliesis 
in the field trying to formulate an explanation of these 
phenomena in terms of the collision of particles against 
the bodies in question. In short, as a mere fact in the 
history of physics, attraction is not a solution, but an un- 
solved problem ; and the scientist feels that could he but 



MOTION 81 

analyze further than he has done, he would be able to 
reduce all instances of attraction to forms of collision. 
With this fact in the history of science we, as reflecting 
scientists or philosophers, are not here concerned; but 
we are concerned with the question whether or not any 
rational principle lies at the bottom of this treatment 
of attraction. Is the collision of moving points the truly 
rational " atom " of the transference of motion ? Let us see. 

If, by hypothesis, two points a and h are moving in an Must coiii- 
absolutely empty space and do not come into collision, any berths" 
we naturally maintain that the moving a will not undergo final form of 
changes in its motion because of the presence of the transfer- 
moving 6. If any change occur we at once conclude, ence? 
either that some other body o collided with a (which of 
course would be contrary to our hypothesis) or that h must 
after all have come into contact with a. But why should 
we all feel impelled to look for a collision as the true ex- 
planation ? 

We should do so for the following reasons. If a is Attraction 
influenced by 6, why should it have been influenced just assei-te^'ucU- 
at the moment y and not at the previous moment xl rectiy that 
Namely, why should a now be influenced by h and not ence\s 
before this, inasmuch as h has been present in space all causeless, 
along? To this an opponent might reply, h does not 
influence a till it gets, say within a mile, or an inch, or 
some other distance. But why so? Is there any really 
new element in the state of affairs, because these moving 
points are approaching each other? By hypothesis no 
body exists in between them. Therefore no moving object 
exists between them. Hence their nearer presence appears 
to our intuition as in no way an effective change of con- 
ditions ; as each is cut off from the other by an absolutely 
empty space and therefore exists in a little world by itself. 
Thus if a and h were to approach and then either of them 
change its motion we should feel that an effect had 
been brought about in an inexplicable way, which means 



82 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Whereas 
Collision 
supplies us 
with just 
this cause. 



without any cause. As we shall see later, in discussing 
the principle of causation, if the conditions remain the 
same, the effect must be the same. To our intuition in 
the case of a and b approaching in an empty space, the 
conditions are not changed. Hence we maintain a change 
in the character of their activities would be causeless ; 
which is absurd. Therefore did a and 5 chang-e their 
activities without coming into contact with each other, 
our intellect would at once set us to searching for some 
heretofore unknown point c that had been the cause. 

Now, on the other hand, if a and b come into col- 
lision, then our intuition does find a change in the con- 
ditions, for that instant a and b would be no longer a and 
b but would coalesce into ab. They could not go through 
each other without occupying the &ame space, which to 
our mind seems absurd; hence if the principle of inertia is 
to hold, they must repel one another. . A real change in 
the conditions, namely, a change that was not included in 
the original hypothesis, has entered; and we feel that 
there is something present to which we may ascribe the 
change in the motion of a and b. In short, we may sum 
all this up as follows : wherever a change of motion takes 
place, we seek, as it were, for some scapegoat on which 
to lay the blame. If all is as it was before, we can find no 
scapegoat; but if a collision, a new element, has entered, 
we lay the blame upon it, whether rightly or not depends 
on a number of conditions. In our case it would depend 
upon whether it be true or not that the collision was the 
only new element that entered into the conditions. If 
it were, and we could know it, we should at once without 
hesitation accept it as the cause of the transference of the 
motion. Whereas a mere change of position without col- 
lision would only set us to looking for some other change 
to account for the transference of motion. 

Hence the rational ground for rejecting attraction, or, 
as it is called, actio in distans, as true form of motion-trans- 



MOTION 83 

ference, is that such an hypothesis ultimately disregards 
the law of causation by not bringing in an efficient change 
in the conditions to account for the change in the result.^ 

To take up our second or remaining problem. How The mean- 
about the transference of motion itself ? Can there be such ^^ °^ *^® 

term 

a thing? This question, as an ultimate one of the inter- "trans- 



activity between two entities, we must reserve till later. 

1 Lotze (Metaphysics, Book II, Chapter V) proves that ^^ motion can 
only be an effect of forces acting at a distance." He adds, "To speak of 
action when the elements are in close contact, I regard as a contradiction." 
As he shows, two bodies must either have space between them or in part 
coincide. 

But true as all this argument is, it really fails to meet the essential 
problem. The expression " collision," or " contiguous points or planes," 
in geometry means that an infinitesimal distance intervenes, means, in 
short, that no other geometrical object intervenes. This last marks its 
true significance. The doctrine of collision then merely wishes to assert 
that the two bodies are contiguous, that no other body lies between them 
or can lie between them. 

But, you ask, is not an infinitesimal distance still a distance, or a sepa- 
ration? We reply yes, if knowledge or science ever dealt with the infin- 
itesimal ; but science does not do so. It deals with the finite, and in 
terms of finite quantities the two bodies are in collision. If we dealt with 
the infinitesimal, then science must have reached the limit of, its analysis, 
must have carried it on to infinity, in short, it vrould have ceased to be 
"relative knowledge " and would have become " absolute knowledge," a 
manifest absurdity. 

"With Lotze we too maintain that ultimately the transference of motion 
and the division of the world into separate things is untenable. But 
science is not dealing at all with this metaphysical problem. Science 
does divide and has to divide the world into things, and then finds their 
relations. So likewise science regards two objects as truly contiguous as 
long as it places nothing between them. The doctrine of collision, then, as 
such, does not claim to deal absolutely but only relatively with the problem. 

A further significance of the doctrine of collision (and for us it seems 
the really final and alone satisfying argument) could be brought out after 
a discussion of the nature of probability. We shall there try to show that 
the true and immediate cause in nature must be contiguous to the object 
it acts upon ; and therefore, if we regard a distant object as the one acting 
upon the given object, this simply leaves the problem but partially an- 
swered, in short, gives only a remote cause. Cf. appendix to Chapter 
XII. 



ference of 
motion," in 
natural 
science. 



84 INTEODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

It will be enough for our present purpose to show just 
what science must be held to mean by the expression 
"transference of motion." 

In the case of the two moving points coming into col- 
lision science means that there are three elements, first a 
with its motion a, b with its motion /S, next the collision, 
and third a with motion a.^. ^^^^ ^ with motion /Sg. In 
short, the term "transference of motion" means, in the 
final analysis, not that motion leaves a and goes to 5, but 
that a and h after the collision have motions of a different 
character from those they had before. Thus the expres- 
sion is the statement of a fact, and not an explanation of 
how the fact arises. It does not mean that h now has 
motion that can actually be identified with a's previous 
motion; but it means that 5's motion has changed, and 
that it can be compared with, and perhaps in some ways 
can be found to be of the same kind, as a's previous 
motion. It is not an assertion of identity or an expla- 
nation of occurrence, but a statement of resulting facts 
and their similarity, or likeness, to previous facts. To 
take the reader into our confidence, a gigantic difficulty 
for our reflecting reason to master is the actual occurrence 
of a literal transference of motion. We shall discuss it 
later, and reject it as an impossibility. Therefore we 
wish to show that it would be utterly unfair to natural 
science to maintain that any such doctrine is taught by 
it. The purposes of natural science in no way demand 
that we should take sides one way or the other regarding 
this metaphysical problem. Science's laws and results 
would be the same no matter how the question is an- 
swered. Therefore science can ignore the question, 3-es, 
should ignore it, and hold to the limited meaning of the 
expression, "transference of motion." 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE CONSERVATION OF MASS AND MOTION ^ 

As our text-books in physics inform us, science main- The two 
tains a number of truths concerning the motions of bodies, before us. 
Thus we are told, in the principle of inertia, that a mov- 
ing body in an empty space would move on forever in the 
same direction, with the same rapidity; or otherwise and 
technically expressed, "The linear momentum of a body 
will not change if there is no force acting on it." Again, 
if two bodies come in collision, the sum of their mass and 
motion is not altered. Finally, these truths lead to the 
general principle, the quantity of matter and motion in 
the universe are constant, the so-called principle of the 
conservation of energy, or the persistence of force. To 
use this principle in its broadest sense, it includes pos- 
sibly three assertions: — 

1. Matter may change its form, be divided, scattered, 
recombined, etc., but it is never annihilated. Its mass 
is constant. 

2. Motion is never annihilated. 

3. Energy, or the power of doing work, may change its 
form, but is never annihilated. 

In our present discussion we must limit ourselves to 
two questions concerning this law. (1) Is it true? 
(2) If true, is it an ultimate presupposition or axiom 

1 Parallel Beading. The student should read in connection with this 
chapter, Chapters IV, V, VI, VII, and VIII of Part II in Mr. Spencer's 
First Principles. Further references are the following : Lotze, Metaphys- 
ics, Book II, Chapter IV ; Stallo, Concepts and Theories of Modern 
Physics, Chapter VI ; Hoffding, History of Modern Philosophy, Book X, 
Chapter I. 

85 



86 



INTRODUCTION^ TO PHILOSOPHY 



I. The truth 
of the prin- 
ciple of con- 
servation. 



The prin- 
ciple means 
relative con- 
servation. 



Meaning of 
the term 
" relative." 



of science, or is it a conclusion from experiments, namely, 
an inductive conclusion? Is it a -priori or a posteriori? 

First, are we sure that it is true ? That depends upon 
what we mean to assert. 

We here come upon one of the great truths that must 
busy us later on, namely, the relativity of all our knowl- 
edge. If we mean that absolutely considered matter and 
motion are never annihilated, we are saying that which 
we do not know. If we mean that relatively considered 
they are never annihilated, the principle of conservation 
does hold.^ What do we imply by the words " absolutely " 
and " relatively " ? An example will make this clear. You 
and I measure time by means of comparing an interval 
with what takes place in that interval. For instance, a 
day means the interval in which the earth makes a com- 
plete revolution. But you might ask, How do I know 
that the earth revolves to-day at the ^ame rate of speed 
as it revolved yesterday? Might not, then, the interval 
called a day keep varying? I reply, The way in which 
I know that the earth revolves with the same speed 
to-day as yesterday is that I compare its revolution with 
other events that happen in the same interval. During 
that time the planets have altered their position, and the 
sun the altitude of its path in the heaven. Then, too, on 
the earth there have taken place in the twenty-four hours 
thousands of events that, judged from experience, agree 
with the statement, The earth has not taken a longer or a 
shorter time to revolve than heretofore. For instance, 
our best clocks show that noon by the sun to-day is indi- 
cated by the proper point on their dial, that is, where we 
should expect it if the earth had moved regularly. But 
suppose you are not satisfied with this answer; suppose 
you object, " How do I know that all these thousands of 
events have not changed their rate of occurrence, all of 
course in the same ratio? Suppose some world-demon had 
^ Cf. James Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism, Vol. I, p. 170 ff. 



THE CONSERVATION OF MASS AND MOTION 87 

played a trick on us over night; had kept each occurrence 
in the same proportion or ratio of time consumed; why- 
might he not have changed what was a day into what was 
a million of years?" Should we know the difference? 
We reply, "You are quite right, we should not." If 
everything happened "relatively," that is, one thing as 
compared with another, in the same proportions of time, 
the absolute time might jump back and forth from minutes 
to millions of years every other second indefinitely with- 
out you or me knowing the difference. Just as much 
work would be done in a day. You and I should change 
and grow old to the same extent in a day. The planets, 
the sun, the earth, would alter their positions in the same 
order as heretofore. The tides, the clocks, and all, would 
move in complete agreement with the old programme; 
but yet a million of years considered absolutely, namely, 
apart from any comparison with definite events, might now 
be but a second. In short, our measurement of time or 
anything else is purely relative ; in fact, absolute meas- 
urement is a contradiction in terms. A thing is so long, 
so big, so old, all in relation to other things. It is a 
matter of comparison. To Rip Van Winkle his sleep, 
when first he awoke, had been but over night. When 
he walked into the village, saw the new town and the 
new faces, dress, customs, and so on, then, and only then, 
could he realize how long his sleep had been. 

So, also, with the law of the conservation of energy. 
Matter and motion relatively, or comparatively consid- 
ered, do not change their quantity, but are constant. A 
world-demon might annihilate some matter and motion 
and, by keeping everything in the same proportions, make 
the world seem absolutely the same. Therefore our law 
in no way refers to the absolute quantity (really a contra- 
diction in terms, for quantity means the result of measure- 
ment, i.e. comparison), but to the relative quantity; and 
in this sense the law holds. 



88 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



II. Is the 
principle an 
a priori 
truth ? 

All measure- 
ment must 
ultimately 
assume the 
accuracy of 
the means of 
measure- 
ment, and 
this means 
its conser- 
vation. 



But is the law an ultimate axiom, a self-evident or a 
priori truth, or is it known to be true only by experiment 
or observation of many cases ? We answer, It is a i^riori. 

Let us see. The reader will surely admit that if we 
get a result by measurement, for that result to be worth 
anything the measurement must have been fairly a-ccurate. 
In other words, he will surely admit that those who say 
it is not a priori and yet believe in its truth presup- 
pose in their doctrine at least that they can measure. If 
they cannot, their results are worthless ; and surely they 
never proved anything by such untrustworthy measure- 
ment. This granted, we turn about and assert that 3^ou 
have to assume the conservation of mass and motion before 
you can have any trustworthy measurement. In short, if 
we are right, our opponents put the cart before the horse. 
Their position is a great petitio principii, or begging the 
question. They prove the conservation by measurement, 
and then they prove the measurement by the conservation. 

To turn to the proof of this statement. Let us take a 
concrete case. We turn to a friend and ask him what 
time it is. He pulls his watch from his pocket, and 
answers, "Twelve o'clock." We reply: "No, it is not 
twelve yet. Your watch is wrong." He then goes into 
the next room to look at a clock there, and returns, sajdng, 
"This clock says twelve." We reply that we cannot help 
that. It is not twelve. Our patient friend looks at other 
clocks with the same result. We repl}'-, as before, " They 
are all wrong." Well, to satisfy our doubting spirit, he 
telephones to an astronomical observatory in the neigh- 
borhood and asks what their clock says. But still we 
maintain that he is wrong. Next he appeals directly to an 
astronomical observation. We reply, " Your instruments 
are not accurate." He shows us the care with which the 
instruments were made and the large number of careful 
observations by which his results have been verified. So 
the matter might go on indefinitely between us and our 



THE CONSERVATION OF MASS AND MOTION 89 

scientific friend. Now the question arises, Wliere is the 
point at which we go beyond all bounds of reason, and 
where our opposition becomes not any longer a legitimate 
doubt, but sheer nonsense? Let us see. He keeps ap- 
pealing to better and better clocks, to better and better 
instruments, to better and better observers, to better and 
better means of measurement in general. And we all 
agree that he does rightly in so doing. But what consti- 
tutes a better measure, a more accurate clock, and so on? 
We should be told about its careful construction, and, 
above all, of the care with which it is kept. A clock 
would be kept in the same temperature. A standard yard 
measure would be handled with exceeding care lest fric- 
tion of handling might wear it away, and so on. In 
making the observations all manner of care would be 
taken to make allowance in our results for every variation 
in any of the accompanying circumstances. The barome- 
ter would be consulted, the refraction of the air, as far 
as it might be a varying factor, would be taken into con- 
sideration. In short, anything that might in any way aifect 
the action of our instruments and the accuracy of our ob- 
servations would have to be carefully computed before we 
should feel assured. But right here we ask our opponents 
what good is all this care in measuring. The answer 
would no doubt be. To measure, you must have each time 
absolutely the same means of measurement, and you must 
try to get them, either directly or indirectly, through 
making necessary allowances in the results. But what 
is our opponent presupposing? Is it not this, that an Therefore 
instrument of measurement under absolutely the same tjieprmcipie 
conditions will give the same results ? But right here supposition 
could we not push him through the endless series of ques- prem^sTof 
tions again till he told us how he knew that the same all measure- 
conditions were surrounding the instrument and govern- 
ing its application ; how he knew that the instrument 
itself had not undergone a change in the interval that 



90 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

would throw out of court at once all his results ? All our 
opiDonent could do would be to measure the instruments 
and show that they had not changed. But, again, we 
could call his measurement in question. Whither would 
he then have to retreat to escape our objections ? Ulti- 
mately, to the statement that an instrument is always the 
same if nothing happens to it, namely, if it is kept care- 
fully enough. But, Mr. Opponent, is that anything else 
than the doctrine that the mass or the motion of your in- 
strument is forever the same under the same conditions? 
Then, again, if it has altered its nature or characteristics 
in any way, you discover this by assuming that some other 
instrument has not. In short, we force your measurement 
right down to the point where we show that you are 
assuming, and have to assume, the principles of the in- 
ertia of matter and of the indestructibility of matter, and 
that in a collision between two bodies the one loses as 
much motion as the other gains. If these fundamental 
principles be not valid, neither is your measurement trust- 
worthy, nor can it be. But these fundamental principles 
are nothing else than the law of conservation. In short, 
to have any measurement trustworthy, it has to appeal to 
this law for its justification. If the law of conservation 
depends upon measurement for its proof, then the two 
proofs are mutually dependent and are together a begging 
of the whole question. 

Therefore our final conclusion is valid; the law of con- 
servation is an axiom. ^ It is not the conclusion of any 

1 An objection that may be raised against the principle of the conserva- 
tion of motion is the fact called potential energy. It may be said, poten- 
tial energy is not motion, that is, motion can pass into a state that is not 
motion. 

To this we may reply, as a question of physics, different forms of poten- 
tial energy may sometimes be found to be merely molecular motion within 
the mass. The particles may be vibrating. As a matter of philosophy, 
the expression "potential energy" in no way describes the present fact, 
but the future. It does not tell us what is taking place within the mass to 



THE CONSERVATION OF MASS AND MOTION 91 

quantitative comparison, but the very presupposition on 

which the comparison logically rests. 

We have here met two very important problems. First, The present 

what do we mean by a law or proposition being self-evi- ^e'term ^ 

dent or a priori? The full meaning of this term must be ''a priori." 

brought out gradually as we proceed. So far we mean by 

it, any truth that forms a fundamental presupposition. 

As we know from the study of logic, every conclusion is 

drawn from one or more premises. Should any one ask us, 

Are the premises true ? we should be rationally obliged -^ priori 

to make these premises, in turn, conclusions of arguments uitfmate^ 

that would establish them. We should have to seek for premise, 

further premises. Now this calling into question the such must 

truth of our premises would have to stop somewhere, ^^ assumed 
, , . ,111 1 • and cannot 

otherwise our opponent would keep us busy proving our ^g proved. 

premises for the rest of our days. Where should we stop? 
Of course wherever we get premises whose truth our op- 
ponent grants. Such a premise from the point of view of 
this individual argument would be an a priori premise. 
But usually we do not mean by an a priori truth a prem- 
ise of one particular argument, but of all arguments as 
far as this particular truth may enter them. In short, an 
a priori truth is one that can never rationally be called 
into question, but must be granted, and is granted, by 

which we ascribe the energy. On tlie contrary, it implies that we do not 
know. However, if we make the question a problem, we should never 
regard a motionless condition of the atoms composing it as a solution. 
We should always try to analyze further until we discover some motion of 
parts that would afford an explanation of the motion the given object can 
produce. We should always feel any other answer not a solution of the 
problem but a confession of its remaining unsolved, for we should feel that 
mechanically we had otherwise an effect without a cause. 

One of the lessons to learn from just such principles, which should be 
more and more evident as we proceed, is the answer to the questions, What 
will science accept as a solution to any given problem and what will never 
seem a solution ? Such a case was that of gravitation. The word "at- 
traction" in physics cannot be an ultimate explanation but only a con- 
fession of ignorance. 



92 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

all. It is never itself a conclusion of an argument. Thus 
we might define an a priori truth as one that always 
serves as a premise, never as a conclusion. In fact, we 
shall see that it is impossible to prove an a priori truth ; 
or, to put this in another way, to prove it you would 
have to assume it. In short, to prove an a priori truth 
involves you in the fallacy of petitio priiicipii. An a 
priori truth has to be granted us, and therefore we have 
to appeal to our rational opponent whether the truth is 
not self-evident. If it is not, if he demand a proof, we 
are helpless to argue with him. 

Now we have just seen that the law of conservation is 
such a truth. To prove it we should have to measure 
matter and motion ; but to measure matter and motion, we 
have to assume it as one of our premises. Hence our 
opponent must grant it or else give up the very possibility 
of measuring anything quantitatively. It is the ultimate 
principle, or premise, of all quantitative measurement. 
The reader may ask, very justly, the question, May not 
the very possibility of quantitative measurement be called 
into question ? This problem should be pointed out here, 
but we must reserve its solution till later. 
The so- The second important question is this. Our opponent 

called indue- i tj: j.i i c j^- i i • • 

tive proof of ^^7 ^s^' ^^ ^^^® ^^^ ^* conservation be known a prion, 
the prin- why has it happened that it was discovered through actual 
experiment? The answer is easy. An a priori law, 
namely, a presupposition, may be made by us very often 
without our being conscious that we are making such an 
assumption. Do we never meet a man or woman that has 
not a large number of opinions that he or she never calls 
into question ; that he or she hardly realizes as being pre- 
supposed the whole time? Do we not all have our preju- 
dices; are we not all in some things narrow-minded? 
Does not our psychology show that each one of us is an 
old fogy where habit and environment have bound us 
down to definite lines of thought? So, likewise, in 



THE CONSERVATION OF MASS AND MOTION 93 

science, many and many a presupposition is constantly 
made — made even for centuries — and never called into 
question by the scientific mind; never even noticed by 
thinkers. Some day a genius happens to notice such a 
presupposition, calls to it the attention of the scientific 
world, and, perhaps by calling it into question or proving 
it false and something else true, works almost a revolu- 
tion in some great field of one of the special sciences. 

So the fact that we are unconscious of presuppositions 
is no necessary proof that they are not made. What the 
so-called experimental proof of the law of conservation 
did, was to discover and bring clearly to men's minds just 
this law. They may have thought they proved it, but 
their proof really presupposed it. In short, the discovery 
of a law is something very different from its verification. 
The experiments referred to did attract the world's atten- 
tion to the law. But though to the experimenter they 
seemed also to prove the law, they really presupposed it. 
That the experiments proved nothing at all, of course we 
do not assert. What they proved is for the physicist, not 
for us, to determine. One thing, however, we logicians 
know that they did not prove : they did not prove truths 
they presupposed. 



\ 



CHAPTER IX 



THE MECHANICAL THEORY^ 



The Atomic 
Mechanical 
and the 
Dynamical 
Theories of 
Nature. 



There have been thus far two standpoints coming to 
the surface in our discussion. There has been, first, that 
standpoint from whicli the world of nature appears to be 
a world made up of atoms. All the processes of nature, 
from the origin of the solar system, from the geological 
and meteorological transformations in nature, all the way 

1 Historical Note. 

The Mechanical Theory dates from the days of Democritus (about 
460-360 B.C.). The chief names associated with it in the Grseco-Roman 
world are Leucippus and Democritus, Epicurus (341-270 b.c), and Lucre- 
tius (98-54 B.C.). Among the later schools both the Epicurean and Stoic 
held to a mechanical natural philosophy. 

Concerning this theory in antiquity read Weber, History of Philosophy, 
pp. 55-58, and Windelband, History of Philosophy, Section 10, "The 
System of Materialism." 

To turn to the modern world. "We must look chiefly to Galileo (1564- 
1642) for the birth of modern mechanics and with it of the modern me- 
chanical theory with its application of mathematics to the solution of natural 
problems. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the mechanical 
theory as a general interpretation of the world reaches the height of its 
supremacy in the thought of Europe. To it belong the names of Des 
Cartes (1596-1650), the Cartesians, Spinoza (1632-1677), Isaac Newton 
(1642-1727). (Read Sections 30 and 31 in Windelband^s History of 
Philosophy.) 

In the eighteenth century, there was, especially in France, a strong 
materialistic mechanical movement. (Cf. Section 60 in Weber's History 
of Philosophy and pp. 479-481 in Windelband' s.) 

Opposed to the mechanical theory and offering in its place a dynamical 
one stands the philosophy of Leibniz (1646-1716). (Cf. Windelband, 
p. 420 ff.) 

The name representing the final standpoints of the mechanical theory 
of the eighteenth century is that of Laplace. 

94 



THE MECHANICAL THEORY 95 

up to the formation of living organisms, their evolution, 
their highest forms in man and his nervous system, yes, 
on up to all the material phenomena of society and human 
achievement, all these processes are to be explained as 
the action and interaction of an indefinite number of 
atomic bodies. All these things can be analyzed into 
these atoms and their changes or processes ; their forma- 
tion and transformations are but the motions and trans- 
ferred motions of particles obeying ever the Newtonian 
principles of motion. Could we but know each atom, its 
mass, its motion, the direction of that motion, and its 
position in space, then the remainder of a complete expla- 
nation and complete prediction of all nature's phenom- 
ena would be but a mathematical problem; of course a 
problem of indefinite complexity and one beyond our 
means of calculation, but still only a problem of mathe- 
matics. A world-demon with this information and with 
the adequate mathematical ability could predict to the 
second all the phenomena of life and society, the events 
of history, the rising and falling of empires and civiliza- 
tions, the composition of books, the lives and fates of 
men, the evolution and dissolution of our race, our earth, 
our solar and sidereal systems. From beginning to end 
all would be but atoms bounding and rebounding according 
to mechanical laws. 

Then again, we have held to a second standpoint. "We 
have frankly admitted the validity of this atomic and me- 
chanical analysis and explanation of nature ; but we have 
maintained that it is only an abstraction, and as such not a 

On the general history of the Mechanical Theory the student is referred 
to the great work of Lange, History of Materialism, to which we shall 
refer also in the chapter on Materialism. Another important work to 
which reference should be made is that of Kurd Lasswitz, Geschichte der 
Atomistik vom Mittelalter bis Newton. 2 vols. Hamburg and Leipzig, 
1890. 

The nineteenth century added little to the philosophy of the Mechanical 
Theory. 



between the 
two views 



96 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

complete picture of the real nature. We admit all that 
is said from the first standpoint about the ability of a 
world-demon to analyze and to predict. Such intellectual 
achievements in miniature and fragments we see accom- 
plished every day of our lives. Yet, on the other hand, 
the world of nature is, as we have learned, something 
more than mere atoms. To say that it is only atoms Avould 
be as absurd as it would be, did a geometrician say nature 
is composed only of points or triangles. Points and tri- 
angles are mere abstractions; but so also are atoms. We 
have found that the real world is one infinitely rich in 
elements, in qualities, in characteristics. The real world, 
the concrete world, contains infinitely more than any of 
our sciences with their abstractions tell us. 
The conflict Here we come upon a point where men differ and enter 
into dispute. Some men, led astray by the truths of the 
atomic theory, have actually gone so far as to say the 
world of nature is, after all, only atoms and their bound- 
ing and rebounding. There is nothing else. They have 
looked upon the complete story of the atoms as a complete 
story of nature. They have said : When natural science is 
fully worked out, she will have given us all there is to 
know; we shall know the world as it is. This doctrine 
is a mechanical materialism. The trouble with this 
doctrine is, as we have seen, that a truth has been mis- 
understood and its meaning and significance grossly ex- 
aggerated. The atomic theory holds of the world, but it 
is not a complete description of the world. Materialism 
has often blindly identified the two. 

But right here its opponents tend to go to the other 
extreme. They have seen how the atomic theory fails to 
explain or to account for all reality; and therefore they 
have maintained against the atomic mechanical theory 
that it does not hold at all, or not universally, that nature 
cannot be accounted for as a world of atoms bounding and 
rebounding; and so they give us another theory, tha,t we 



THE MECHANICAL THEORY 97 

shall call the dynamical theory. Here, again, a truth 
has been misunderstood and its meaning grossly exag- 
gerated. The atomic theory does hold universally in 
nature. All nature's events can be analyzed into atoms 
and their motions, as science is attempting to do. This 
does not mean, however, that such an analysis accounts 
for all the elements that make up nature; no, indeed. 
This we have already shown. But this truth militates in 
no Avay against the atomic theory rightly understood. It 
militates against materialism, it is true, but no more. In 
short, an atomic explanation of nature is a valid interpre- 
tation, but it is not a complete one. There is then for us 
a middle position between materialism, with its mechani- 
cal explanation of nature in its totality, and the oppos- 
ing dynamical theory that nature is not the product of 
atoms and their motion, that the mechanical theory does 
not hold. 

Our position we may put then as follows : — 

If we seek for a complete, all-including picture of The recon- 
nature, it must be found along the lines of the dynamical ^i^e two 
theory. When we separate motion from the moving body, theories. 

. . o c/ ' Mechanical 

our act is one of abstracting two elements that do not, and i^^^ hold of 
cannot, exist apart. The true reality is one undergoine- all nature, 

, 1 1 P n • 1 T . ^ ^, ^ but do not 

changes and possessed oi ail its secondary qualities, ihe exhaust- 
dynamical theory, in so far as it refuses to sejjarafe the i^eiyde- 
motion^ or activity/, of the mass from the mass, that sees in 
the atom or mass a self-acting entity, is nearer this complete 
description. Yet, as we have said, we must give its due 
to the mechanical hypothesis. The mechanical theory 
is the logical outcome of the analysis of the objects and 
activities of nature that must precede their interpretation. 
But, on the other hand, the dynamical theory is right in 
maintaining that the complete story of nature cannot be 
told in mechanical terms. In short, we deny that the two 
theories are contradictory. Both stand for complement- 
ary truths. Nature is mechanical; it obeys mechanical 



98 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

laws. But nature is more, too. Nature, from another 
point of view, is dynamical. This other point of view, 
however, carries us beyond the present problem, as we 
have limited it. 

Thus science rightly feels that all forms of nature's 
activities are in accord with mechanical laws, and that on 
this account she should carry her analysis into every field, 
and there attempt to reduce all the phenomena to a 
mechanical system. The history of civilization is theo- 
retically as mechanical a process as is the flow of a river 
from an inland lake to the sea. The mechanics of the one 
series of events may be complicated to such an extent that 
we know, in comparison to the other series, little about 
it; but none the less science sets herself the same ulti- 
mate ideal in each case, atoms and their motions. 

But remember, there is all the difference in the world 
between the statement, " A series of events obeys mechani- 
cal laws," and the statement, "A series of events is ex- 
haustively described in an account of the mechanical laws 
that it obeys." The river would be far more, yes, almost 
infinitely more, adequately described in an account of its 
mechanics than would be the history of civilization. The 
one, to our minds, seems infinitely richer in variety and 
complexity of content than does the other. For this 
reason we should go away far more easily satisfied with 
the mechanical explanation in the one case than in the 
other. We have accepted the mechanical theory as an 
ideal of natural science in its interpretation of nature's 
doings. We have not (as we shall see later) accepted it 
as the last word metaphysics has to say about nature. 



CHAPTER X 

SPACE AND TIIME^ 

In our reflective study of nature we are next to discuss Nature 
two of its chief characteristics. Nature is a spatial and a thne and 
temporal world. As we have already said, we believe our space, 
universe extends on indefinitely in space, to which we can 
think no bounds. Then, again, we look upon the present 

1 This chapter leaves out of consideration many of the most important 
problems that have been raised concerning space and time. The reason 
for so doing is this : these problems do not belong to that of space and 
time as such. They belong to larger questions. 

1. TJiere is the problem of the phenomenality of space and time. 
Kant and others deny their absolute reality, regarding them as only em- 
pirically real. They are the forms of our intuition^ and as such are the 
products of the mind. This whole question must be brought under the 
larger question of Idealism versus Realism. If we refuse to distinguish 
between absolute reality and empirical reality, if the real world is the 
empirical world and it alone, then it is absurd to talk of space being phe- 
nomenal. Space must then be as truly a part or element of the real 
world as is any other element. 

For the Kantian doctrine read Windelband, pp. 537-541 ; "Weber, pp. 
437-444; and in Watson's Selections from Kant, "The Transcendental 
-aesthetic. " 

2. The Problem of Conceptual Space as opposed to Perceptual SjMce. 
By conceptual space is meant not the space that we perceive, but that 
we construct mentally by abstraction, the space we study in geometry 
and mechanics ; whereas perceptual space is the space our eyes and 
hands actually reveal to us. Is there anything on earth in connection with 
which we do not have this same problem ? Who ever perceived all the 
rooms in a palace at once ? Who ever saw all the parts of his body ? Is 
there then a conceptual palace and a perceptual palace ; my conceptual 
body and my perceptual body ? All objects as dealt with by knowledge 
are conceptual. Are all objects, therefore, unreal ? As we shall see later 
the word "real " has two meanings, and thus we can quibble. Real as 
applied to the perceptual has a different meaning from real as applied to 

99 

L.ofC. 



100 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

order of things in our world as the child of the past ; but 
the past, in turn, was the child of a yet remoter past, and 
so on indefinitely. Similarly, the future will be the child 
of the present and, in turn, the parent of a remoter future. 
In this way we speak of our world as extending indefi- 
nitely in time. We can think of changes taking place, 
and therefore having a beginning and an ending; but a 
beginning or an ending for nature as a whole we cannot 
conceive. As a consequence we look upon its existence 
in time as limitless. 

To join our two statements together, the world of nature 
exists indefinitely in space and time. But when we 
make this statement, does it occur to us to ask what are 
these things, space and time, in which nature exists? 

the conceptual. But if you will only use the word true for the conceptual 
and real for the perceptual, the difficulty should disappear. Then it is 
absurd to ask whether our conceptual knowledge is real ! Our conceptual 
knowledge is true ; that is, its assertions hold of reality. It is absurd 
then to ask whether any object as we conceive it is real, but we should 
ask, Does our conception hold true ? 

The whole problem then is, Do the space and time of geometry and 
mechanics hold true of the real world, do mathematics and mechanics hold 
true of reality? This and this alone is the problem of the "Reality of 
Space and Time." All conceptions are ideal, but then the opposite, "real," 
has a very different meaning from "reality " as applied to space. In this 
last sense, i.e. as opposed to ideality, reality cannot be affirmed of any 
object of knowledge, as we shall see later. 

3. There is the question raised and argued so ably by Kant, 
Whether space and time are conceptions at all. For him they were per- 
ceptions, or intuitions. True, "space" and "time" are not general 
terms like "horse," "cat," "dog," etc., i.e. terms applicable to many 
different objects. But space and time are conceptions in that broader 
sense in which any synthesis of thought is conceptual. TVe cannot per- 
ceive space as a whole, as Kant himself later admits. But on this whole 
question the reader is referred to the admirable chapter of Edward Caird, 
in the Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. I, Book I, Chapter II, "The 
^Esthetic," especially pages 289-295. 

Cf. also The Grammar of Science by Karl Pearson, 2d ed.. Chapter Y, 
" Space and Time," especially as a reference under the second problem, 
"the reality of conceptual space." 

4. Hie Problem of the Genesis of our Space-perceptions. This problem 
belongs to pyschology, not to philosophy. 



SPACE AND TIME 101 

In our study of geometry and mechanics we talked about 
geometrical figures and their location in space, and of 
points, or bodies, moving about in an empty space. But 
what is space? Did we ever see it? Yes and no. We what are 
have never seen an absolutely empty space, that is, a space spac^e?^ 
with no colored background. Surely looking at an abso- 
lutely empty space our eyes would receive no stimulus Mere empty 
from it, and we should not see any space unless by way space an 

*' -^ -J -J impossible 

of illusion or hallucination. But what would an abso- experience, 
lutely empty space seem like ? It would have no color, 
no temperature ; it would contain no material entity and 
no moving entity. It would have none of these character- 
istics. But let us not say what it would not have. What 
characteristics would it have? Mere extension and the 
capacity to contain. But is there really such a thing as 
an entity with this poverty of characteristics ? Have we 
not here, again, something like the geometrician's plane, 
an abstraction, not a concrete reality? One statement 
is surely true, we never saw or perceived any such entity 
if this is what space is. We never saw space all by itself. 
But perhaps a reader will reply, "True, we never saw 
empty space, namely, mere space, but this is no proof 
that space is not an entity, and could not exist as such 
irrespective of the existence of other entities." To such 
a critic might we not reply that his statement would hold 
just as well of any abstraction admittedly such ? You and 
I never saw a house in the abstract. Every house we ever 
saw was some particular concrete house; but that is no 
proof that somewhere, somehow, there is a house that is 
not any particular house, but is the abstract house. 
Surely our opponent will admit that such experiences of 
house in the abstract and space as such, or empty space, 
are on the same plane, namely, are impossible experiences. 
A colorless extension were to our seeing mind no vision 
whatever; an empty space were to our touch no sensation 
of touch; to our sense of motion (of course apart from our 



102 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

own motions) no sensation whatever. In short, our oppo- 
nent claims that there may exist something that our 
minds, from the very nature of the case, cannot experi- 
ence. All well and good; we accept the problem as a 
problem and shall try to answer it later on in another 
Therefore chapter. But surely, so far our ojjponent will agree with 
empty space -^g ^j^g^^ what he and we call space is not somethinsf be- 

or mere . ^ • i i 

space as longnig to a world we have never experienced, but some- 
such cannot thing that belongs to the real world, — to which we all 
the spatial belong and with which we are all familiar through every 
world we do (-j^y'g experience. As a consequence, anything: like empty 

experience. j i t. ' j J3 l j 

space, as asserted of that world, is not some entity that we 
see or perceive, but is evidently a mere abstraction. Nature 
is a spatial world ; but to take away space from it, or it 
from space, leaves, not something as a remainder, but 
nothing whatever. It is like the story of the man that 
sold his shadow. The shadow was rolled up, put into a 
bag; off ran the purchaser with his new possession, leav- 
ing the seller without a shadow. The question is, How 
did it all happen ? The answer is easy, It did not happen. 
The man without the shadow was a nonentity. His 
shadow in the bag was likewise a nonentity. Space 
apart from nature, nature apart from space, are both of 
the same class — nonentities. 
Empty We have here, again, the old story, an abstract name 

theuVot an turned into a concrete entity. As the result of an abstrac- 
eutitybuta tion, "spacc" lias meaning. As a concrete thing, space 
abstraction, by itself is like a triangle by itself — a creature of the 
mind having no objective existence. Just as there are 
things triangular, things to which we can apply the law^s 
and properties of triangles, so there are things spatial to 
which we can apply the laws and properties of space. 
To study space we deal with it abstracted from all else; 
our mind deals, and must deal, with abstractions, because 
it must dissect one problem away from all others in order 
to concentrate attention upon it. But this dissec- 



SPACE AND TIME 



103 



tion by the mind is a method of investigation, not any 
world-creative power. Fairy tales may talk of shadows 
rolled up in bags, but fairy tales cannot create any such 
realities. Neither can science. Space is an abstraction of 
utmost importance to science. So similarly is time. 
But, as realities, they are not something apart from the 
world that exists "in them." 

The real world of nature is, then, a spatial and a tem- 
poral world ; and we mean by space and time certain char- 
acteristics of that world abstracted by our intellect for 
study by themselves. They are not entities or thi7igs ; they 
are abstractions. 

However, this does not mean that science should not 
continue to use empty space as a concept and conceive all 
manner of constructions in it. Even the expression "abso- 
lute motion " may be serviceable and have its consistent 
meaning. 1 

1 Cf. Lotze, Metaphysics, Book II, Chapter IV, Section 164, 



Space and 
Time are 
real 

elements of 
the world 
but not 
entities. 

Still empty 
space has 
an office as 
a concept in 
science. 



CHAPTER XI 



THE world's infinity 1 



Our 

inability to 
discover 
limits to the 
world 
suggests 
negatively 
that there 
are none. 



The world, as seen by modern eyes, is one that extends 
throughout a limitless space. Though the worlds and 
systems of worlds revealed to us by the telescope, numer- 
ous as they are, and stupendous as are their magnitudes 
and distances, are but finite ; and though they give no 
positive evidence of a boundless universe : still, negatively, 
they warn us not to limit the universe to them. The 
absence of any mark of limitation to the sidereal systems 
leads our thoughts on to worlds beyond, worlds waiting 
only for better means of vision to be discovered and added 
to the known. Likewise in time our world has no begin- 
ning or ending. We may trace roughly the origin of a 
solar system out of cosmic dust and its return again to 

1 There are tw^o meanings to the term "infinite " and two philosophical 
problems connected with it. The second will be discussed in Chapter 
XLVII. 

The infinite means first the boundless, the unlimited. It is this mean- 
ing we discuss in the present chapter, or in other words, our problem is, 
What do we mean by nature's infinity ? 

The second meaning of the infinite is the world as a totality, or the 
world as a whole treated as an object of our thought. 

From this chapter it will be evident that the world is never perceived 
or known by us in its infinity. We deal always with some part of it, 
never with the boundless world. But if we can perceive or know only 
the finite, how dare we assert that the world is infinite ? As we shall see, 
it all depends upon what we mean by our term. 

The problems of the infinite have given philosophers much trouble. 
One of the most famous presentations of the ultimate difficulties and 
seeming contradictions involved in regarding the world as finite or as 
infinite is to be found in Kant's Critique of Pure Eeason : The Antinomies. 

Of. Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, Book I, Chapter XXL 

104 



THE WORLD'S INFINITY 105 

cosmic dust; yet nowhere do we have evidence of a state 
that reveals itself as a true beginning. Each state, as 
such, points to a possible unknown state before it, or 
one after it. So negatively the evidence is at hand 
that leads on from period to period in world up-building 
and world dissolution. There is nowhere evidence of a 
beginning or ending. Likewise the microscope reveals a 
world of marvellous complexity too small for the naked 
eye to see. Negatively it hints that more powerful lenses^ 
would reveal greater and greater complexity of parts. 
Chemistry and physics deal with even vastly finer parts, 
but in their turn give us no evidence of a limit. Thus 
the iniinitely small, as well as the infinitely great, stands 
all about us; and thus we are led to view our world 
as infi.nite in every element of magnitude, extent, and 
duration. 

But critical thought bids us take care lest we overstep But further, 
our information. What do Ave mean by infinity, and what a^o'^id- 
evidence have we of its existence? involves in 

To begin with the latter, our evidence of the infinitude ^^^^''^ 

° _ ' _ concept a 

of the world is, as we have seen, negative. Our experi- contradic- 
ence never gives us limits, and never can give us limits. ^^^' 
To recognize anything as a limit presupposes that we can 
see beyond, and behold that the given thing is not there. 
The cover of a box is its limit, because we see that in the 
space above there is no more box. But clearly if to know 
the limits of the box means that we must know that which 
is beyond sufficiently well to be sure that the box does not 
extend farther; then, surely, to recognize a limit as a limit 
is but to bring up some new thing beyond the thing whose 
limit we recognize. How then could we ever discover 
limits to our world? To find them we should have to 
know what is beyond, and that which is beyond must 

1 Of course there is a limit to optical magnifying, for we should in 
time come to objects too small to reflect light. Still, we can imagine the 
process being carried on indefinitely. 



106 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

either belong to the world or be outside of it; but if we 
mean by the world the universe or the totality of existence, 
the latter would be absurd. It would mean knowing a 
beyond which itself was part of the world. To be sure, 
this does not give us any positive evidence of the world's 
existence beyond the known. It merely tells us, that 
if we should come to know of such existence, our problem 
would simply arise anew, for we should have to ask our- 
selves, What is beyond this part now just discovered? 
Still, the What, then, do we know positively about the world ? 

iiifiuitude of ., ,„.„. „., 

the world is Until wc answer this we dare not dehne mnnity; for it 
uotamere ^j^q infinity of the world means anything', it must mean 

negation. ^ • ■, • i ttti 

It is an something that we can justly assert. Why, what we 

know positively about the world is just this negative 
characteristic. We cannot know its limits. It can never 

experience, -^^ revealed to us as a limited world. To know its limits 

and so has a 

positive means always to know a beyond; to know a beyond means 
to have our problem of determining limits start all over 
again. And this is just what we mean by infinity. It 
denotes the inability of our minds to set or know a limit. 
In so far it is a truly positive characteristic of the world, 
— one actually experienced by our minds in interpreting 
the world. It is an actual, positive piece of experience 
telling us that we cannot treat the world as a whole in the 
same way in which we treat boxes, stones, men, houses, 
countries, and planets as wholes. They have their limits 
just because they are parts of a greater whole; but of 
necessity the whole, as such, would be at once turned into 
a part did we in any way treat it as limited. But we 
dare not treat it as limited without running into a contra- 
diction in terms. Thus, whenever we interpret any object 
or system or group of objects, there are always surround- 
ing objects ; and this is true no matter how large our 
object may be. Such is the positive element we may call 
the world's infinity. 



actual 
element in 
our 



meaning. 



CHAPTER XII 

MATHEMATICS AND ABSTEACT MECHANICS AS A PRIORI 

SCIENCES 1 

Did we now turn our thoughts to the classification of Sciences 

the different natural sciences that have as their field the generality 

different elements, or parts, of nature, we should find that and so in the 

one chief basis for dividing them would be the generality ^.^jch they 

of their fields. That is, one science deals with a smaller give an _ 

field than does another; and just because it does so, it is interpreta- 

far more concrete, or interprets the obiect more exhaust- *^°° °^ *^®^^ 

A • 1 T • 1 • r- 1 T f object. 

ively. A science dealing with a very extensive field oi 

necessity neglects all but the most general characteristics 
of the things it interprets. Thus, did we start with 
anthropology devoted to the study of man's bodily nature 
and origin, we should find in it a far more detailed or 
exhaustive account of each actual object, this man or that 
man, than in biology. True, even a treatise on anthro- 
pology would not describe any one individual man, but 
rather types of men. Still, an account of these types 
would include far more about each individual man than 

1 Whether mathematics is an a priori science or not, has been a matter 
of much controversy in recent philosophy, especially since Kant. 

Kant adopts a peculiar doctrine of space and time to show how mathe- 
matics may make valid judgments a priori. Cf. on the Kantian doctrine : 

Watson's Selections ; " The Transcendental Aesthetic." 

Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. I, Book I, Chapter II, 
especially pp. 295-298. 

Opposed to mathematics being a science a priori is John Stuart Mill. 
Cf. Watson, Outlines of Philosophy, Chapter I, 
Parallel Reading. 

Watson, Outlines of Philosophy, Chapters I, III, and IV. 

107 



108 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

would a book on biology. If from anthropology we turned 
to zoology, we should find a much larger field included in 
our science; and, as a consequence, this or that individual 
animal would be far less exhaustively described than in 
any science devoted to an account of that particular kind 
of animal. 

If, next, we pass from zoology to chemistry, we shall 
find a yet larger field included. With this enlarged field 
fewer characteristics of the individual object are taken 
into account, and the truths we now learn fit a wider 
number of objects. There is an anthropology of man 
alone, a zoology of animals alone, a biology of living 
creatures alone; but there is a chemistry of all but the 
imponderable bodies. 

Yet even in chemistry we deal with characteristics of 
limited universality. We can go farther, to physics, and 
from physics to mathematics. In so doing we pass to the 
study of such universal characteristics that no object in 
all nature fails to come within our field. But such uni- 
versal characteristics, as we have seen, must bring us 
farther and farther from the individual. All that we say 
now describes or holds true of, not only one individual or 
type of individuals, but an indefinite number, yes, in its 
chief principles, all natural objects. We have deliberately 
cast aside the thousands and thousands of characteristics 
of the individual things, and have concerned ourselves 
only with the few, the very few, that remain. The conse- 
quence is, we are dealing with very high generalities. 
We are studying the mere skeleton of nature; no, even 
that figure implies far too much of the individual. We 
are studying rather the faint beginnings of an outline as 
the individual object approaches us out of the thick mist 
where all was hidden from our eyes. 

Abstract mechanics teaches us concerning the most 
general laws of the motion of bodies and its measurement. 
These laws hold of all bodies in motion. Mathematics 



THE A FBIOBI SCIENCES 109 

deals with objects as occupying space and as numerical The most 
units. Geometry tells us what must be true of any object |f°fJ^^ ^^^ 
just because it is an object in space. It tells us the prop- maticsand 
erties of length, breadth, and thickness. Another branch ^^'^^^''^^ics. 
of mathematics, arithmetic, tells us the numerical rela- 
tions of objects. Any object whatever may be regarded as 
having numerical relations. Any natural object may be 
studied merely as something that occupies space. Any 
such object may be studied as subject to motion. Thus 
in mathematics and mechanics we set aside all the other 
properties and relations and confine our attention to these. 

What is the consequence ? We have two sciences that Their gener- 
differ in a most marked respect from all other natural a^ityniakes 
sciences. All other natural sciences, that is, all other acter funda- 
sciences that take into consideration a greater complex- "^^'^^^^^^ 
ity of qualities and relations in the objects of nature, 
are obliged to gain the information they give us from 
studying the actual objects themselves and their changes. 
Only in this way can they gain the truths they teach. 

But in abstract mechanics and mathematics we can gain other 
our information in a very different way. We qain it simplu sciences _ ^ 

n . -rrr- • 777 \ '^ Q pOSteriOTl. 

by rejiecti07i. We imagine our prohlem and reason out imat 
its ansiver must he. We do not have to experiment ivith indi- 
vidual cases, or make observations of such cases and then 
draw hy induction an hypothesis holding of all similar cases. 
Thus, to learn the anatomy of animals, we have to study 
the individuals. We could not sit down and from the 
beginning reason out all the organs, muscles, and bones 
of the various types of animal, nor similarly the parts of 
plants. Nor could we sit down and merely by reflection 
work out the history of the nations or the biography of an 
individual man. All such information we have to win by 
observing the facts or studying the records of those before 
us who have observed the facts. Or, to use a technical 
term, all such information has to be obtained a posteriori. 
But in our two sciences we do not have to proceed thus. 



110 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



These two 
are o priori. 



The opposi- 
tion to this 
view. 
Mathe- 
matics does 
not essen- 
tially differ 
from the 
other 

sciences, its 
results only 
high proh- 
ahilities. 



Here our study is a priori.'^ We can picture to ourselves 
all the possible cases and tell what must hold true of them. 
We do not have to hunt the world over for cases or speci- 
mens. Our imagination furnishes all we need. "We do 
not have to put our conclusions to a test among the objects 
themselves. Our imagination alone furnishes us with all 
the proof that is needed. Out of his own inner conscious- 
ness man is able to weave truths that hold throughout the 
whole length and breadth of reality. The properties of 
the plane triangles, as proved in Euclid, hold of every 
plane-triangular object the world over. The laws of 
abstract mechanics hold of all moving bodies that exist 
or ever will exist. 

This feat of man's intellect seems not only gigantic, 
but absurdly so. In fact, to many it seems impossible; 
and therefore they try to show that man really gains his 
mathematical and mechanical knowledge in a very differ- 
ent way. They tr}'- to show that his conclusions are not 
certainties, but that they are mere probabilities, just as 
are all other forms of scientific knowledge. The truths 
biology and chemistry teach, they rightly tell us, are at 
the best only high probabilities. No one knows what 
moment some chemist or biologist may surprise the world 
by overthrowing some long-accepted opinion and replace 



1 The terms, a priori and a posteriori. 

For their history consult Baldwin's Dictionary of Philosophy and 
Psychology. 

One meaning of the terms we have already discussed. A priori is 
a term applied to an ultimate premise, to a premise that is not the con- 
clusion of some possible previous argument, to an ultimate presupposition. 
The term a posteriori, on the contrary, is applied to a truth depending 
upon other truths for its proof. 

A second meaning of the terms (and this is the meaning implied in 
the present chapter) is the following. In a problem that can be solved 
a priori, we have all the data upon which the solution depends furnished 
by the reflecting mind itself. Whereas in a problem that must be solved 
a posteriori we have to search outside of the reflective imagination, we 
have to search in the world about for our facts, or data. 



THE A PEIOBI SCIENCES 111 

it with another. We are never sure when some new 
" Origin of Species " or work of similar importance will 
appear. Even when the astronomer calculates, with won- 
derful accuracy, the next eclipse of the sun and the path 
of its totality on the earth, room for doubt of its actual 
occurrence is conceivable up to the time it occurs. Some 
gigantic catastrophe might occur in the meantime to do 
away with the sun or earth, or at least modify seriously 
the time of the eclipse. Thus at the best the astronomer 
gives us only a probability bordering on certainty, not an 
absolute certainty. In the same way, those who deny to 
mathematics its a priori nature, claim for its conclusions 
only a similar probability bordering on certainty, not abso- 
lute certainty. They claim that at best our convictions 
concerning the truths of mathematics are so fixed in our 
minds through habit that we have no doubt about their 
truth, even though there is still room for doubt. ^ 

In reply to all this what shall be said? Are these two 
sciences, sciences a priori; and does there belong to them 
the certainty we generally claim for them, or only a prob- 
ability bordering on certainty? And, again, are these 
two questions one and the same, or are they distinct? 
That is, can a science be a priori and yet permit of error ? 

Let us answer the last question first. Most assuredly Reply: I (a) 
our knowledge maybe gained only by reflection and yet ^,!j^o^^^" 
be wrong. That is, it may be true that the only way we contain 
can know some truths is through picturing to ourselves ^^^°^' 
the situation and inferring them from the nature of the 
picture. Now mathematics and abstract mechanics are 
perhaps such sciences. They are a priori ; but that does 
not mean that this man's or that man's geometry is infal- 
lible. No end of error may enter into any one's demon- 

^ Cf. Watson, Outline. Such a view is held by the extreme Empiri- 
cists, especially John Stuart Mill. Herbert Spencer quite mistakes the 
philosophical problem by explaining the a priori character as the result 
of racial inheritance. 



112 



INTRODUCTION TO PHltOSOPHY 



(6) yet in 
another 
sense we do 
maintain 
that an a 
priori 

science must 
give certain- 
ties. 



(c) There 
is this 
essential 
difference 
between the 
two groups 
of sciences. 
In a priori 
sciences we 
have all our 
data. In 
the others 
we never 
have hut a 
part. 



stration of such propositions ; and many a supposedly true 
proposition may be proved false. 

But in another sense we do claim that an a priori sci- 
ence must give not probable results, but absolute certain- 
ties. Why? Because an a priori science requires on our 
part only good thinking in order to get certainties. Good 
thinking, or rather perfect thinking, may not be possessed 
by any child of man ; but that has nothing to do with the 
case. An apHon science gives certainties because reflec- 
tion alone is needed to arrive at them. If, then, in any 
given case we do not get them, the fault lies solely with 
our reflection. In short, the certainty of these sciences is 
identical with their a priori character. Nothing human 
is certain ; but these sciences are called certainties because 
the only possible room for error is limited to our thinking, 
or rather reflection. 

In the other sciences the case is altogether different. In 
them we have to hunt for our facts, and we never know 
when we have searched far enough. We have no means 
other than actual hunting the world over to get our data; 
and we never can hunt the world over because the past 
and future are never at hand, and because even in the 
world of the present the search is ahvays partial. We 
study man ; but who has seen or can see every man now 
existing, every man that has existed, or ever will exist? 
Clearly all our conclusions about man have to be built up 
out of quite meagre data, as compared with conclusions 
reached say by some great world-demon that could observe 
all men. But in mathematics (and what is true of mathe- 
matics is also true of mechanics) we are not bound down 
to any such limitations. Now just because all cases we 
ever deal with are given us by our imagination, namely, 
granting that mathematics is a priori, because all possible 
cases are supplied to our observation by the mind itself; 
you and I have right in the mind that draws the inference, 
the source of all the data. It is true we have to hunt ; 



THE A PBIOBI SCIENCES 113 

but the world within which, by hypothesis, we do hunt, is 
our reflective imagination. Our hunt may be partial, and 
therefore our results may be wrong. We are not all born 
mathematicians. But there is still a very great difference 
between hunting the world over, the infinite world, and 
hunting our minds over. The one world is infinitely 
smaller than the other. We grant that the smaller world 
is big enough, big enough for error. We grant that any 
book on mathematics may be false from cover to cover. 
But still in mathematics the a priori character (we now 
assume for sake of argument) throws out one great source 
of error found in all the natural sciences. 

But are mathematics and abstract mechanics a priori n. Mathe- 
sciences, and how are they possible ? Mechanics 

That they are a priori sciences is a fact directly fur- are a priori. 
nished us by our daily experience. We do not study of daily 
either of them by hunting data in the wide world. We experience, 
study both by reflection, and only by reflection. The only 
way to disprove this would be to show the impossibility of 
such a feat. We shall try to answer such an argument 
by showing the possibility. 

The main premises of our proof the reader already has. An a priori 

The more abstract the science, the farther we are removed possible 

from the actual concrete world of individual things. The i^ecause of 

more abstract the science, the fewer the characteristics we generalities 

have to deal with. Finally, if we make our science ab- '"^ith which 

T • • 1 111 ^^ deals, 

stract enough the conditions, m other words the data, are 

very few. But what is this more than to say: If we make 

our science abstract enough, the field or the possibilities 

remaining are so few that our minds can grasp the whole 

world-situation. There must be a point, some place, where 

the mind has so limited a field before it that it can of its 

own self study this field merely by reflection. ^ 

1 The "newer principles of mathematics " are even a step farther in 
this work of abstraction than those of the traditional mathematics. Cf. 
the article by B. Eussell, Recent Work on the Principles of Mathematics, 
in the International Monthly, Vol. IV. 



114 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

The mind J^ow this IS exactly what we find in mathematics and ah- 

exhausts the ^^^^^^ mechanics. For instance, the world of geometry is 
data, and it go limited in the elements it contains, that the mind is 
cepted as ^" i^ a position to picture to itself exhaustively the whole 
the final geometrical world, as far as it is involved in any given 
problem. We have simply carried our abstraction so far 
that the remaining world is small enough for our minds 
to master completely. We have simply passed over the 
boundary where the imagination becomes sufficient unto 
itself. But you ask, How do we know that we have so 
done? Ultimately the only answer to your question is 
this. Our minds say we have, and we have to trust our 
minds. The proof of this statement, that ultimately the 
mind has to be trusted, we do not give here, but we hope 
to give it later when we discuss the Theory of Knowledge. 
We must assume this here and limit our discussion to the 
other question, whether or not the mind does claim to 
exhaust the possibilities. 
An example. Take the case of proving that through any three points 
in space, not on the same straight line, one and only one 
plane may be passed. What does the mind do to satisfy 
itself? It imagines a straight line passing through two of 
these points. Through this line it pictures a plane pass- 
ing, and then revolving about the line as an axis. The 
mind sees at once that as the plane revolves it sweeps 
through every imaginable point of space, be that point 
where it may. Hence the third point must be included 
in it some time during the revolution. But can no other 
plane pass through these same points? No, says our 
mind. If the plane containing the third point revolve 
any farther in either direction, in short, become a differ- 
ent plane, it will no longer contain the third point. Now 
we can reproduce this same situation, taking a line 
through any other two points of the three as the axis. 
When we do this, we see that the three conceivable planes 
which alone pass through all these points are identical 



THE A PBIOBI SCIENCES 115 

with one another; and thus our mind is satisfied that it 
has exhausted the whole universe of possibilities involved 
in the proposition. 

Thus we may conclude our discussion as follows. An Conclusion. 
a priori science is 07ie where the mind finds ivithin its own 
reflective imagination the source of all possible data. Ulti- 
mately we have to trust this warrant of the mind, and in 
so doing we remove from such an a priori science that 
great source of error every a posteriori science must con- 
tain ; namely, the complete inability of the mind to hunt 
through all time and all space for its data. Thus a higher 
type of certainty is possessed by all a priori sciences than 
is possessed by any a posteriori science. This higher 
type of certainty is not merely one of degree, but one of 
kind; for the one group of sciences has in the mind alone 
all the data needed, whereas the other has not. 

But though an a priori science is thus a certain science, 
this does not mean that the mind is always to be trusted 
in its reflective imagination. In actual cases no end of 
errors may arise through careless work or thinking. A 
child is just as liable perhaps to make errors in geometry 
as in chemistry. But to correct these errors means solely 
to set the mind to work again hmiting for the needed further 
information right in its oivn self. And yet in spite of the 
truth that we can make errors in an a priori science, still 
there is the mind's conviction of the exhaustive character 
of its work, a conviction never so easy when its data have 
to be sought without the mind. From all this it should 
be evident that the difference between an a priori science 
and an a posteriori one is solely in the completeness of data 
for study possessed by the one as against the other. The 
process of reasoning is the same. Mathematics and ab- 
stract mechanics, of all the natural sciences, alone claim 
to be a priori. Of course a complete discussion would 
require the actual study of the details of both sciences to 
make sure that all the truths they teach are a priori. 



116 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOrilY 



APPENDIX TO CHAPTER XII 



The cer- 
tainty of our 
knowledge 
is due to the 
complete ex- 
haustion of 
the possibili- 
ties of any 
given case. 

The 

probable 
presupposes 
a partial 
exhaustion, 
with more 
than half 
the possi- 
bilities in 
our favor. 



NOTE ON THE NATURE OF PROBABILITY! 

We have seen that the element of certainty in mathematical 
judgments is due to the mind's ability to exhaust the possibili- 
ties or to determine what alone is possible. This question of 
exhausting the possibilities leads us on to a closely related 
problem, What is the nature of probability? What consti- 
tutes the probability of any result of science, and what makes 
it possible for us to determine probabilities? 

By probable we mean that the chances are in favor of a 
given outcome; and this, in turn, means that of a given num- 
ber of chances, or possibilities, a majority is on the side in 
question. To put it still otherwise, that an outcome is prob- 
able may be expressed by a fraction in which the denominator 
stands for the number of equal possibilities and the numerator 
for the number in favor, and whose value equals more than a 
half. For example, let us refer to the familiar instance of 
dice. If we take a perfect die, each of its sides is an equally 
possible throw; that is, the chance of any number, say ace, is 
just one-sixth. In the case of two dice being thrown the 
chance of one ace is two-sixths, and the chances of double aces 
one-thirty-sixth. Again, in the case of one die there are four 
chances out of six that a number greater than two will be 
thrown, and in the case of two dice there are thirty -five chances 
out of thirty-six that a number greater than two will be cast. 
We may then say that in these cases it is probable that a 
greater number than two will be thrown. 

But right here we must note a most important truth. As 
we saw, for a thing to be probable our fraction must equal 
more than a half. If this be so, we must have a finite number 
for our denominator; for were infinity the denominator, we 

1 The question of probability is one of the most important problems in 
Epistemology, but it seemed wise not to include in that part a chapter on 
this topic, but to add here this short appendix because of its bearing on 
the question of the chapter and on the validity of the mechanical theory. 



PROBABILITY 117 

could not have a fraction of sufficient value. Now notice the Now such a 

significance of this truth for science, and also for philosophy. ^^°*^°" P""®" 
° ' ir L J supposes a 

In all scientific research, before we can reach a probable result, we finite num- 
irmist be intellectually satisfied how many possibilities we have to ^?^ ?* possi- 

01iltl6St 

deal loith, or at least that they are finite in number. Otherwise, 

if the possibilities are infinite, to determine the probability is 

out of the question. Now natural science tries to learn the 

laws of nature, or the causal relations between material objects; 

and we speak of its results, and accept them, as probable, or 

reasonably possible. 

But if we are to know them as such we must be sure that in But to have 

any given case which science investigates, the number of pos- bero/possi- 

sible candidates for the office of cause is really finite. Still, bilities in an 

how can we know this ? Here is an event a ; what is its i"^'^''*® 

' world pre- 

cause? We know some event must be; but which one? for supposes 

there are taking place in the whole realm of infinite nature an some^ 

infinite number of events. At once it is evident that if we exclusion. 

have not some further information, some clew that will reduce 

the number to a finite number, the search would be hopeless 

from the very beginning. 

But what is this information, and where can it be gotten? Thisprin- 
There seems to be but one answer, and that is the following. ^^^ cause is 
In nature the cause of any given event is itself contiguous to its spatially 
effect. If this be so, we may search in the neighborhood of to'jtg'^^ect 
the effect for its cause ; and there dealing with ordinary objects, 
we surely are dealing with a finite number. 

Thus if some event take place in our room, why may not 
some event on the farthest fixed star be a possible cause just 
as truly as some event in the room ? Clearly if this were so, 
if we had to search everywhere in infinite nature, we need not 
even begin the hopeless task. No matter how persuasively 
some near-by event urged its candidacy, it would have no right 
to be listened to till all the infinite events had been heard 
from. This would make all discovery of causes impossible.^ 

In short, the ivork of science is impossible unless we grant that 
natural causes are contiguous to their effects. This, then, is an 
a prion principle, an axiom of science. 

1 Cf . A Defence of Philosophic Doubt, by A. J. Balfour, Chapter III. 



118 



INTRODUCTION TO THILO SOPHY 



This prin- 
ciple is au 
important 
argument in 
favor of tlae 
Mechanical 
Theory. 



But how can 
this axiom 
hold of the 
physical 
stimulus of 
naental 
states, if 
these last 
are non- 
spatial ? 



It is this 
very law of 
contiguity 
that enables 
us to verify 
the truth of 
our body 
being the 
seat of our 
mental life. 



We have here, it seems to me, a complete proof of the doc- 
trine of the mechanical theory that collision is the means, or 
condition, of the transference of motion. If ball (b) moves, 
ball (a) that collided with it, or some other contiguous object, 
is the cause. (As we saw, the term ''collision" implies spatial 
contiguity.) An object at a distance cannot, then, be the 
direct cause. Of course, it may be one of a series of causes 
leading through the intervening space to the contiguous object, 
or direct cause. We say the sun heats the air about us. In 
strict literalness this is true only indirectly. For good reasons 
we emphasize the part the sun plays in a long causal series, 
yet it is not the direct, or immediate, cause of the higher tem- 
perature. This proof, leading back to this axiom, is a more 
satisfactory proof than that given in the chapter on Motion. 

It may occur to the reader to ask, "If this axiom hold, how 
can we ever determine the material or physical cause of mental 
states ? " for as we shall see a few chapters later, mental events 
are never spatially related to the physical world. Entirely 
apart from the question how we discover the part played by 
our organs of sense, and in fact by our whole body, in affecting 
our mind, the ultimate means of verifying the truth that the 
body is the seat and organ of the soul is the fact of its spatial 
relation to all that we perceive and voluntarily do. 

Assuming then (on the strength of a later chapter) that the 
mind has a physical organ. What is that organ ? How do I 
know that some events in the centre of the earth are not the 
causes of all my visual experience ? We reply : that according 
to our principle the physical organ of my perception must be 
some object that is always contiguous to the object perceived, 
and that the body is the only object that we can find fulfilling 
this condition. Our whole life gives us instance after instance 
of close spatial relationship between the object perceived or 
acted upon by our minds and our bodies ; and our bodies are 
the only thing in the world that we have to bring into conti- 
guity with the objects in order to perceive them. 

Again, in all this mark well, we do not mean to say that 
this axiom is necessarily brought into play in discovery. It 
is an axiom for verification, not for discovery. Discovery may 
be, and perhaps always is, ultimately mere guesswork or chance. 



PROBABILITY 



119 



Back of all probability, and so of all knowledge, lies the 
presupposition that the mind can exhaust a given field of 
observation. Were this field infinite, we could not get prob- 
ability in our judgments. 

This process of exhaustion, then, is used in all sciences; 
and so we have in them the same task as in mathematics. In 
mathematics the mind is satisfied that its exhaustion is com- 
plete. In other sciences it is not thus satisfied. But this sub- 
ject belongs to Epistemology.^ 

1 It is omitted from tlie chapters on Epistemology in tliis book because 
it seems to belong rather to a treatise to discuss it. 



Thus the 
ability of 
our mind to 
exhaust pos- 
sibilities is 
presupposed 
not only In 
the a priori 
sciences, but 
also in the 
a posteriori 
ones. 



CHAPTER XIII 



A CEITIQUE OF NATURAL SCIENCE 



A critique 
of natural 
science. 



I. The limi- 
tations of 
natural 
science. 
Reality is 
concrete ; 
science is 
necessarily- 
abstract. 



We have now completed our philosophical reflection on 
the world without us, or nature, and are therefore in a 
position to discuss the character and limitations of that 
part of science given up to the interpretation of nature. 
This discussion of the character and limitations of science 
is called a Critique of Science. Hence we are now pre- 
pared to formulate, in general outline at least, a Critique 
of Natural Science. 

Firsts its limitations. We have found that the real 
world is made up of concrete individual entities; it is 
not a world of abstractions. We never find triangles, 
we never find abstract men, children, houses, plants, or 
stones. Each house is different from every other house, 
each man is different from every other man, each moment 
of our lives is never either a mere repetition of past 
moments of our own lives, or a duplicate of moments 
in the lives of others. As we walk along the roadside 
we never find two stones or two blades of grass exactly 
alike. Look where we will, and find resemblances where 
we will, things are different; and each thing has its own 
life or existence, its particular form and character all its 
own. But science treats the v/orld in a very different 
way. Science strives, as it were, to break down the dif- 
ferences between things and to treat them as absolutely 
similar. Science must do so, for its work is to discover 
not that which differentiates one thing completely from 
others, but that which unites them all under the same 
class and law. Therefore science neglects more and more 

120 



A CRITIQUE OF NATURAL SCIENCE 121 

the individual and its peculiarities and deals with the 
class, or the abstraction that denotes the combined charac- 
teristics of the class. Science has no time to give an 
exhaustive study to every individual triangle, but has 
done its work when the common properties of all tri- 
angles are pointed out, analyzed, and put together again 
into general laws. Likewise the individual man is no 
concern of science. Science studies not men, but man; 
not this tree or that tree, but the class; not the chem- 
istry of some special drop of water, but of water. Thus 
of necessity the work of science is limited. The indi- 
vidual, and that alone is the reality, belongs not to her. 
Though her abstract laws hold of the individual, and are 
obtained by studying the individual, they do not exhaust 
the individual, but only what we know about classes. 
They are abstract. 

But we are apt to forget this ; and as a consequence, The danger 
science ever runs into danger of regarding abstract laws ["n J the real 
as complete or exhaustive interpretations of their objects, and the 
But they do not describe the world or any individual in 
its totality. This ever lies beyond and, as we shall see, 
ever affords new problems for our knowledge. 

Now scientists have of late decades made just this error. Naturalism 
Their view is called Naturalism. They have maintained just this 
that the world is really made of atoms ; that its history is error, 
but a great mechanical process of atoms bumping together 
during countless ages. They have talked as though in 
truth a physics exhaustively worked out would tell all 
there is to be told. Is the world not such? they would 
ask us in surprise. Ah, that depends upon what your 
ambiguous question means. Perhaps the world is such, 
but it is surely infinitely more. Your atoms are abstrac- 
tions ; your atoms are all alike. In some respects things 
are perhaps all alike, but in infinite other respects things 
are probably all different. Your science tells us of the 
"some respects "; we ask what has become of the "infinite 



122 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



A second 
danger is 
the fact that 
our knowl- 
edge is 
finite, but 
nature is 
infinite. 



II. The 

characteris- 
tics of natu- 
ral science. 
It is essen- 
tially an 
atomic 
theory. 



other respects." Naturalism, or the view that natural 
science exhaustively describes reality, is an absurdity, 
and wholly forgets, or fails to see, the abstract character 
and consequent limitation of science. 

Another limitation of science, and at the same time 
another error in naturalism, is to be seen through the 
truth that the world is infinite and our knowledge finite. 
If science predicates of the whole world what is found 
true of part of the world, it forgets at once the impassable 
gulf between the finite and the infinite. We may know 
the laws and origins of solar and sidereal systems, but 
what are they as compared with an infinite world? Some 
day perhaps we may know the physics of gravitation and 
be able to explain it in terms of imponderable atoms in 
the ether; but, after all, the true infinitesimal atom will 
always be beyond the finest atom of physics, yes, as far 
beyond as the infinite is beyond the finite. In short, no 
matter where we turn, the infinity of nature forces us to 
regard the conclusions of science as the interpretations 
only of a finite part of nature, never of her infinite total- 
ity. Naturalism that would anywhere put forth the 
abstract tenets of science as a complete and exhaustive 
account of nature forgets this. 

Keeping these limitations in mind, let us consider 
briefly the second point, the characteristics of natural 
science. 

Science should strive to analyze things and seek for 
means of reducing differences in them to likenesses. 
This must mean that science should hold before it as an 
ideal a law in terms of which all phenomena can be ex- 
pressed and all things be classified. We have seen that 
in the realm of nature the mechanical atomic theory 
embodies such an ideal. Natural science must then seek 
in all things a system of atoms obeying mechanical laws. 
This is her ideal, no matter how harsh, and often repul- 
sive, it may sometimes appear. The origin of life, the 



A CRITIQUE OF NATURAL SCIENCE 123 

origin of species, and the phenomena of human life, soci- 
ety, and achievement, must be reducible to mechanical 
laws, just as are the motions of a solar system. Physi- 
ology ideally must give place to chemistry, and chemistry, 
in turn, to mechanics. The ideal science will strive 
toward an interpretation of nature that is capable of 
mathematical application. It will strive to predict by 
mathematical calculation the most complex events of life, 
as it does the eclipses of sun and moon. No matter how 
far, how almost infinitely far, science's ideals are removed 
from her actual achievements, these are none the less her 
ideals, and every new advance tends but to extend the 
application of mechanical laws. 

In all this two truths must be kept in view. In order ^^^ still the 
to be of value to us, and do her whole work, science must science is 
ultimately deal with individual things also. Her abstract t^^* ^* can 
laws are of value, are in fact true, only because they totheindi- 
hold of individuals. Therefore the differences between '^iduai. it 

, . , T ^p . , must treat 

things, or that which differentiates them, must also be of the 
kept within the field of study. As a consequence, the secondary 

• -Ti • 111! qualities 

more concrete sciences will never give place wholly to and so 
abstract physics and mechanics. Chemical phenomena approach 

'- '' , -^ nearer and 

differ from non-chemical, and will therefore always de- nearer the 
mand a special study. Life differs from the lifeless, and '^^i^^i^ai' 
will always therefore demand a special study. Thus, on 
and on, each separate field has its peculiarities that our 
minds cannot neglect. In short, we find a tendency that 
leads us back nearer and nearer to the individual as the 
special sciences divide and subdivide their fields and 
problems. But, as we have seen, the study of the indi- 
vidual in its totality would be infinite. Therefore in this 
return movement of science we see that the ideal of 
knowledge is really to exhaust everything ; but this im- 
plies an infinite task. 

What, then, constitutes the ideal of natural science? 
In a sentence : Natural science seeks for those highest or 



124 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

most general laws under which it can bring all types of 
phenomena and all individual events ; and also seeks to 
coordinate with these more general laws others that are 
less and less general as we approach nearer and nearer 
to the individual with all its countless differentiating 
characteristics. 



II. THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE DISTESTCTION BETWEEN jVIENTAL STATES AND 
MATERIAL THINGS 

In our discussions thus far we have talked about the Our mental 
world without us, — the material world, or nature, — and ggge^^tJa^iL 
have purposely avoided speaking of that world within different 
each one of us that we call our mental life. To every tJ^i^gof 
sane person there is a feeling of difference as he turns nature. 
from the objects about him, even including his own body, 
to the soul within him. Likewise, too, when he thinks of 
the bodies of other men, they seem to be objects of easier 

1 Introductory Note. 

The student that desires to study carefully and critically the problems 
belonging to this division of philosophy, is referred to the first volume of 
Professor Miinsterberg's Grundziige der Psychologic (Leipzig, 1900). 
Here he will find also many references to other works. 

The less ambitious student is referred to G. T. Ladd, The Philosophy 
of Mind. New York, 1895. 

Other general references are the following : — 

Lotze, Metaphysics. Oxford, 1887. Book III. 

P. H. Bradley, Appearance and Eeality. 2d ed., Chapter XXIII, 
"Body and Soul." 

Hugo Miinsterberg, Psychology and Life. Boston, 1899. Especially 
Chapter I. 

James Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism. New York and London, 
1899. Vol. II, Part III. 

William James, The Principles of Psychology, New York, 1890. Vol. 
I, especially Chapter VI. 

Wilhelm Wundt, System der Philosophie. 2d ed. Leipzig, 1897 ; 
Sechster Abschnitt. 

J. Rehmke, Lehi'buch der allgemeinen Psychologic. Hamburg, 1894. 

A. Riehl, Der philosophische Kriticismus. 

125 



126 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



They are 
revealed to 
us in a dif- 
ferent way. 



But what is 
this way ? 



observation than are their minds. We see one another's 
bodies, but how much harder to see the thoughts. The 
soul has always been, to even the crude thinker, some- 
thing mysterious. It eludes observation to a degree 
that material objects never quite do. Of course many 
material things are invisible even when, like the air, 
they are all about us. Still even here we have means, 
direct or indirect, to register their presence. If sight 
does not reveal it, touch may, or some instrument or 
chemical will react and betray their presence. But as I 
sit here alone in my study, are there thoughts and feelings 
floating about the room as does the air ? Would any con- 
ceivable chemical or instrument so react to those floating 
mental states that I could detect their presence indi- 
rectly? No, somehow such things are more mysterious 
even than invisible gases and the imponderable bodies 
constituting the ether. 

If the desk at which I write has any consciousness, how 
can I possibly know it? My own thoughts and feelings 
I do know, but how could I know the thoughts and feel- 
ings of an oyster? Perhaps you reply. An oyster or a 
desk has none. Well, perhaps you are right, but how 
do you know? All you know is, that if an oyster does 
think and feel, he keeps his thoughts and -feelings so 
much to himself that you and I find verj^ little evidence, 
beyond a few reflex actions, of any trace of consciousness; 
and in the case of the desk no evidence whatsoever. This 
leads us to ask, How can we ever know mental states other 
than our own? We reply: Because our fellow-men and 
the higher animals betray their thoughts and feelings to 
us. All well and good, but how do they do so? Why 
do we know that our friend thinks and feels, whereas the 
desk fails in any way to reveal the presence of conscious- 
ness ? At once we answer : Our friend talks, he acts, he 
does what we ask him to do, he learns from us, he teaches 
us, his face expresses his joy, his sympathy, his sorrow, 



THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN MIND AND MATTER 127 

he cries out ^yith pain, he solves problems, he writes us 
letters. 

But philosophers, you know, never rest satisfied if they ^.re the 
can push their questions farther back. So why do these nai evt^ 
acts and doings prove the presence of consciousness? deuces of 
Might not some world-demon create a body just like our conclusive? 
friend's, but put no soul within, and make that body do 
all the things our friend does? Why not? A great 
philosopher once looked on the brutes as mere machines. 
Why might we not have a body with a perfect nervous 
system and yet no consciousness? "Why not?" means, 
of course, what positive, direct evidence of consciousness 
do we have in the one case that we should not have in the 
other? Now often seemingly unconscious acts are very 
intelligent, and psychology has indeed shown how easy it 
is to be deceived about this very point. How often does 
mere habit cause us to perform most intelligent and com- 
plicated acts almost, if not quite, unconsciously. The 
fingers of the expert pianist run over the keys as he sits 
there talking to us and seems quite absorbed in the con- 
versation. In short, we have seemingly no absolute surety 
that any act might not be done unconsciously and purely 
mechanically. 

If, then, we wish to prove the existence of conscious- 
ness in our fellow-beings, logically we are forced to 
proceed in a very different way. We dare not say our without the 
companion has thoughts and feeling's because he acts so ^^^t^^^;^ evi- 

^ , ° ° ^ deuce they 

and so, until we have first proved, or satisfied ourselves, are not. 
that these acts are in truth the outward expression of 
thoughts and feelings. But how shall we ever find this 
out? How? There is clearly but one way. We must 
start with cases where we can watch both sides, both the 
outward expression and the inward thought and feeling. 
Where can we do this ? Only in ourselves. Each man 
in his own case knows whether his outward deed stands 
for an inward thought or feeling. Then, by analogy, we 



128 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

can conclude that when others do as we do, they have like 
thoughts and feelings. But the ultimate validity of this 
argument we must consider later. Here it is enough to 
notice that the only direct proof of the existence of con- 
sciousness can be had by us in the case of our own minds. 
Only indirectly, if at all, can we get at the thoughts and 
feelings of others. This perhaps seems very strange. At 
first thought how sure each one of us is, that although he 
is not quite so well acquainted with the minds of those 
nearest and dearest to him as with his own, yet he does 
know them in part just as well. But notice, we have 
not said that he does not know them just as well; we 
have rather said, he does not know them directly as he 
does his own mind. It may easily be true that others 
know our minds better than we do ourselves ; and often, 
as the poet has told us, the best place to study ourselves 
is in others, and others in ourselves. None the less, when 
we seek for direct perception of thoughts and feelings, 
we never get this except each in his own mind. 
A mind can Thus the fundamental difference between material 
dkectiT ^ things and mental states is this. The former reveal 
only to themselves directly to many minds, the latter are re- 

vealed only to the mind of which they are states. The 
former are revealed to us through our organs of sense, the 
latter only through that internal sense which ultimately is 
one and the same with our consciousness itself. Look 
where we will, the thoughts and feelings of others are 
never directly revealed to us. We may know that another 
feels joy when we see his face light up, his eyes grow 
bright, and other similar physiological signs appear. But 
these are not the joy. Again, could we have the means of 
examining, in finest detail, all the activities in every gan- 
glion cell in his cortex, we should never find there the joy 
he feels. We might see most complicated gyrations of 
atoms, their combining and recombining; but these would 
not be the joy. He feels the joy, though he knows abso- 



itself. 



THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN MIND AND MATTER 129 

lutely nothing about the chemical processes taking place 
within his brain. Surely the dog happy over his dinner 
knows nothing about his nervous system, yet he is the one 
that is happy. The happiness is part of his mental life, 
and is a fact directly present in his consciousness. What 
better evidence that to know the chemistry and molecular 
physics of a living brain perfectly would in no way give 
us the facts present in the dog's mind? These are facts 
quite independent of both sciences. Thus every attempt 
to gain a view of another's mind through the examination 
of his body, or in fact any other body or bodies in the 
whole realm of creation, promises no success whatever. 
"It is a well-known doctrine of psychology, that no 
amount of knowledge of physics and physiology gained 
by the man born blind will enable him to learn what light 
is, in the sense that his seeing neighbor is acquainted 
with it; nor will it help the man born deaf to experience 
what it is to hear. If, however, some operation gives 
sight to the blind patient, then there comes to him an 
experience that in his former state was absolutely impos- 
sible. He now perceives the color blue, and knows that 
he has never done so before. Why is it that the blind can 
never gain this perception?" The answer can only be, 
The states of consciousness that alone are revealed to us 
are our own. Hence the conclusion, it is only by intro- 
spection that mental states are revealed to us. As far as 
the experience of mental facts is concerned, each con- 
scious being is bound absolutely within the four walls of 
his own mental life. 

But what is the bearing of this truth upon our general it is this 
question, the differentiation of mental states from mate- enables us to 
rial things'? Just this. All material things and their differentiate 
motions are theoretically objects of common experience, nature. 
You and I can see the same house, stone, tree, star, sun- 
set; you and I can examine the same body and its parts. 
It is true each cannot examine his brain and dissect it; 



130 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

but the only ultimate reason he cannot clo so is because 
we have as yet no satisfactory means of studying most 
parts of the body without destroying the life of the bod3^ 
Perhaps some day you and I shall be able to see the inter- 
nal parts and their acts as we now watch our hands and 
their motions. Practically all sorts of difficulties may 
stand in the way, but theoretically the brain or any 
other material object is a possible object of each one's 
experience. 

In short, the material world is a conceivable object 
of experience to us all, whereas consciousness is revealed 
only to itself. Consciousness then cannot be material; 
for, let us see any material thing you will in all creation, 
that would never be a revelation directly of a state of 
consciousness. 
The world g^^ jf consciousuess canuot be a body or the motion 

of nature is. ^ • • i ^ 

extended, is 01 a Dody, does not this imply that mental states do not, 
spatial; con- jj]^q material things, have length, breadth, and thickness, 

sciousness is . ° . ^ . 

neither. — that cousciousuess IS not extended? Ihis is a second 
point of difference between the two. 

But if consciousness is not extended, could it be non- 
extended in the sense that a geometrical point is ? Clearly 
not, as we know it. You and I have often perceived con- 
scious states, but you and I never saw a mathematical 
point. In fact, as we know, a mathematical point is a 
mere abstraction, not any concrete entity revealed to us 
in our experience of the world about us. Surely then, 
consciousness, as we know it, is not such. But if mental 
states have no extension and no j)osition (a point is a 
non-extended position), what are we to say about their 
location? Clearly there is for us but one answer left: 
Mental states are not located at all, if we mean b}^ loca- 
tion spatial position. If our mental states are somewhere, 
the}'' must either be points or have magnitude. They are 
not points, they have not magnitude ; therefore, spatially 
considered, they are nothing whatever. In short, they 



THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN MIND AND MATTER 131 

are non-spatial entities. " We must say consciousness is 
nowhere^ meaning thereby, it does not exist in space.'''' 

But how shall we then define mental states, clifferenti- Both worlds 
ating them from material things and their motion? We of events: 
must seek for some characteristic common to both, and the one 

1 1 1 • ,• ,1 , T • -1 1 -tiTT-i spatial, the 

then tor the characteristic that distinguishes them. What other nou- 
is this common characteristic ? If we exclude as a charac- spatial, 
teristic of consciousness all spatiality, the remaining uni- 
versal characteristic of nature is its existence in time. 
All things exist in time and their activities take place in 
time. Is this likewise true of our minds? It surely is. 
Our mental states precede and follow the one the other. 
Some last long, whereas others are fleeting. Some are 
coming into being as others pass away forever. A mental 
state lasting no time whatever would be a nonentity. 
Our mental life then, like the great material world about 
us, exists in time; and thus time forms a characteristic 
common to both realms of being. Hence our result: Both 
bodily motions and mental states exist in time ; but bodies 
and their motions alone exist in space. The mental world 
is merely temporal, whereas the physical world is both spa- 
tial and temporal. Both exist in time, and this charac- 
teristic is implied whenever we call anything an event. 
Our mental states and bodily motions are events, the 
latter spatial events. Mental states are thus solely temporal 
events. We then get this division: — 

< Physical Events (in both space and time), 
■^en s ^ jyjgntal, or Psychical Events (in time only). 

The conferentiee, or common properties, consist of the 
presence of time, duration; the differentiae, of the pres- 
ence and absence of spatiality. 

Doubtless this doctrine seems at first very strange. To Space not 
say that something exists nowhere is like saying it does mciuderin 
not exist at all. Surely our mental states are in our t^^^ t^^™ 
heads. This difficulty each one naturally feels for many 



132 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The psychol- 
ogy of our 
prejudice 
that it is so 
included. 



psychological reasons, and hence psychology had best take 
the responsibility of satisfying the doubter or the uncon- 
vinced. If psychology be fairly familiar to us, a few 
moments' thought will clear the difficulty. The reason 
we are so liable to regard the body as the seat of the soul 
and its life, is because of the intimate causal relationship 
between soul and body. To see Calcutta we have to be 
bodily in or near Calcutta. To see or hear we have to 
have organs of sense and the internal nervous structure. 
Naturally, then, every moment of our lives seems to re- 
veal some new and intimate relationship between mind 
and body; but this does not prove that the relationship is 
a spatial one. The relationship is there; an injury to the 
body is an injury to the mind. But this relationship will 
upon examination always be found to be only temporal. 
Certain mental states and certain bodily states always 
go together in time. Omit one and you omit the other. 
Have one and you have the other. Now it is this purely 
temporal relation that further thought will show to be the 
source of our popular error, that the body is the spatial 
seat of the mental life as it is of the bodil}^ life. 

Again, psychology will tell us that introspection is the 
hardest sort of observation. We do not naturally attend 
much to what takes place within the mind. The child is 
not interested in itself, but rather belongs to everything 
about it; and so likewise for most of us, the world that 
gets our attention is the material, the spatial world. 
Moreover, our observations of our mental states, unless 
we are trained introspective psychologists, are usually 
very untrustworthy. Hence we habitually, yes, instinc- 
tively, identify spatial extension with existence. This 
is why it is so hard to deny spatiality of anj'thing with- 
out feeling that it has been robbed of its existence. Still, 
if we look the facts directly in the face, we shall find 
that, hard as it may be, we must amend our older habitual 
beliefs. Mental states do exist; and mental states, as we 



THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN MIND AND MATTER 133 

directly know them, are non-spatial. Their most inti- 
mate relationship with the world of body is not a spatial 
one ; and this truth will give a revised meaning to the old 
statement, "The body is the seat of the mind." 
. To sum up our results : We find two characteristics Conclusion, 
that distinguish mental states from material things. The 
former lack spatiality, which the latter always possess. 
The former are facts that can be observed only by the 
minds whose states they are, whereas the latter are objects 
that can be observed by many minds. Hence we can 
formulate two definitions of mental states, the one ex- 
pressed in negative terms, and the other in positive 
terms. Mental events are non-spatial events. Mental 
events are events that can be observed only by the one 
mind to whose stream of consciousness they belong. ^ 

1 Cf. Munsterberg, Grundziige, Bd. I., S. 65 f£. 



CHAPTER XV 



THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER MINDS THAN OURS 



The argu- 
ment for the 
existence of 
other minds 
is that from 
analogy ; 



If the truth be that only our own mental states are 
directly revealed to us, whereas the mental states of others 
are not; can we then, in fact, be sure of the existence of 
other minds than our own ? If we can, what forms the 
ultimate basis of that surety? 

From our previous discussion we have learned that the 
proof ^vhich we accept in daily life of the existence of 
other minds than ours, is from analogy. Wherever we 
find a living animal body the possessor of a complicated 
nervous system, or the author of complicated and defi- 
nitely adjusted acts, we at once ascribe to that creature a 
mental life to some extent analogous to our own — the 
extent depending upon the similarity of its nervous sys- 
tem and conduct to our own. In short, we find that A 
(ourselves), having properties X (nervous system, con- 
duct, and so on), has also properties T' (conscious states) ; 
and therefore we infer that JB, C, and D, being known to 
have quite analogous properties Xj, have also the re- 
maining unobservable properties I''^. Or more simply 
still, we say: J. is J^; ^ is similar to A; therefore B also 
is Y. 

But what ought we to say to this argument? It is not 
our task here to discuss the general validity of the argu- 
ment from analogy; but even granting that the argument 
from analogy is ultimately valid, is not this particular 
one quite unusual? Most inductions admit of a theo- 

134 



THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER MINDS THAN OURS 135 

retically possible verification. For instance, did we argue but it differs 
that Mars supports life like that on the earth because ^^'°^ ^^^ 

.,„, ..., other such 

Mars itseli as a planet is similar to the earth, we should arguments 
be cbawiup: a conclusion which we cannot verify at the ^^ seem- 

. . . ingly not 

present time, and possibly not even in the future. Still admitting of 

it would remain a possibility that some means might at ^'^'^^^'^^tio"- 

any time be discovered to prove our theory true. Now in 

the case of concluding by analogy that other minds than 

ours exist, we draw a conclusion that seemingly admits 

of no conceivable verification. In short, we are here 

suddenly confronted with one of the deepest questions the 

human mind can ask and attempt to answer. Have we 

any right to infer the existence of a world (namely, 

the minds of others), the facts of which can never possibly 

become objects of our observation? Here is, without 

doubt, a world that lies entirely beyond the bounds of our 

observation. Quite different from every other argument 

from analogy, this argument belongs really in a class by 

itself. How are we to deal with such problems ; how 

can we know a group of facts lying beyond all possible 

observation? The problem itself we cannot investigate 

here ; but we must reserve it for a later discussion, and 

be content for the present merely to note its existence. 

Still we are in a position to draw some very definite But to keep 
conclusions concerning our problem. In the study of g\*^^™f*^® 
mind there are two kinds of facts and two sources for possible 
facts. First, there are the facts called mental states. uitTmSeiy'^ 
The ultimate and only source of these facts is each one's we must 
own mental life. Nowhere else can we in any way ob- ju^is^o^n 
serve these facts and determine their content. Secondly, mind for all 
there are a vast series of facts that go along with our own ^^^^^^ 
mental life, that form what we call the outward expres- 
sion of that mental life. Such are our bodily acts of one 
sort or another, our words, our gestures, and our deeds. 
Then there are the similar sets of facts in connection 
with the bodies of our fellow-men. These we can study 



136 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The ulti- 
mate mean- 
ing of the 
term 

" another's 
mind." 



as we do our own bodily acts, nay, often far better; and 
so much so, that in many cases our knowledge of our own 
body and its acts can be obtained only indirectly through 
such study of other bodies and their activities. This 
statement shows that the ultimate facts of mind are known 
to us only in our own mental states, and nowhere else. 
The knowledge we gain through the lives, the words, and 
the actions of others is, after all, only a help to know and 
to interpret better the facts given exclusively in our own 
stream of consciousness. 

But this seems to bring us to a very strange conclusion. 
If the student of mind is forced to find his facts only 
in his own mind, no matter how he may appear to 'be 
studying other minds than his own, then, ultimately, it 
is only facts within his own mind that he can be study- 
ing. But what is true of the student of psychology must, 
after all, be true of us all in our interpretation, or 
knowledge, of mind. Each one's knowledge of mind 
must ultimately be a knowledge only of his own mind. 
You may know some outward expression of another per- 
son, his words, his actions; and you may interpret these 
ultimately as analogous to words or actions that in your 
life accompany given forms of consciousness. In short, 
you may ascribe to another what is known to j^ou only as 
states in your own mind. Yet you never know another 
mind in itself; but only as you ascribe your mind, that is, 
an analogous mind, to another being, do you know his 
mind. But this is to say that ultimately you know 
only one set of mental facts, your own conscious states. 

What, then, do we mean ultimatel}^ by the minds of other 
beings ? We mean ultimately those facts that f 07-771 the jus- 
tifieation for our ascribing to them minds analogous to our 
oivn. We mean, in short, by others' minds, those outward 
bodily expressiojis that we find analogous to the outioard bodily 
expressions of our own conscious states. We dare mean no 
more. If we do, we get beyond our information. We 



THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER MINDS THAN OURS 137 



assume a knowledge that, analyzed, proves to be more 
than a knowledge of our own minds. 

But again you object. " Quite true, we do not know 
another's mind except in so far as analogy may enable us 
to ascribe to him mental states similar to our own ; yet 
does this prevent us from saying that there are really back 
of the bodies of other men minds in part like our ow^n and 
in part probably quite different? Do we not, in short, 
mean by others' minds something in very truth beyond 
our own mental states — something that in no way could 
be included in the very same facts ? " To this a final 
twofold answer. 

The existence of minds other than our own we all 
accept without dispute; but the problem here raised is 
not whether other minds exist, but only this : What ulti- 
mately are the facts on which the assertion that they do 
exist, is based? Clearly that information includes no 
mental states other than our own. 

The second question that you will at once raise here 
is probably this : " Dare we not go beyond our informa- 
tion; dare we not assert the existence of minds whose 
mental states in no way fall within the facts of our own 
experience? My brother's mind is never revealed to me 
directly, for its outward expression I interpret only on 
the analogy of my own mind and its expression ; but dare 
I not, nevertheless, claim for it an existence, even though 
the direct revelation of its existence is forever barred 
from me?" 

Your problem briefly expressed is, then : Have we ever 
a right to transcend the facts that form our ultimate infor- 
mation and affirm the existence of facts that can never 
be revealed to us ? This problem our study of mind has 
raised, and we shall have to keep it for the present unan- 
swered; but, finally, we must bring it up for the theory 
of knowledge to answer. If the theory of knowledge 
shows us, as we believe it will, that such transcendent 



Another's 
miud as a 
transcen- 
dent entity. 
If we keep 
to the facts, 
we must 
mean only 
the revealed 
mind. 



The possi- 
bility of 
knowing or 
affirming a 
transcen- 
dent object 
we must 
reserve as a 
problem for 
later chap- 
ters. 



138 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

facts are illegitimate facts, or no facts at all; if it shows 
us that a fact to be a fact must come within our mind's 
observation, in short, must be a fact observable by us; 
then, ultimately, what you and I mean by others' minds 
must be those outward expressions that we interpret 
through analogy. Do you say that this is really to deny 
the existence of any mind, but one's own? Not at all. 
We are making no denial whatsoever; we are merely trying 
to interpret what is ultimately meant, and must be meant, 
if we are rational, by the expression, "other minds exist." 
Other minds do exist, exist beyond any reasonable 
doubt, exist as surely, we believe, as does our own mind. 
But the question is, What, ultimately, do we mean by 
this, our conviction? Or again. What are the facts it 
ultimately asserts to exist? Of course, this conclusion 
still needs the judgment of the theory of knowledge con- 
cerning the problem just mentioned ere it can be validly 
drawn. 



CHAPTER XVI 



UMMOKTALITY 



OuE previous discussion leads us directly to a further What would 
problem — a problem that has ever been one of supreme '^roof^ofTm^ 
interest to man. How are we to know whether the dead mortality? 
yet live, though their bodies are destroyed? 

This question we shall find to be related to the question : Tiie problem 
How do we know the existence of minds other than our [^afof the" 
own ? This is true for several reasons. We cannot answer previous 
the question of immortality directly by an appeal each to ^ ^^' ^^' 
his own mind, for that mind has not yet been put to the 
test of surviving death; and hence if we are to know what 
will happen, by a study of what happens now, we are 
forced to study what happens to other minds than our own. 
In short, our question becomes at once, Are other minds 
immortal ? If so, by analogy our own also must be im- 
mortal. But how are we to know that other minds are 
immortpJ ? Clearly we must seek and find facts that prove 
the continued existence of some mind that once was known 
to us by its manifestations through a body like our own. 
That is, to prove immortality, we must show that some of 
these minds continue to be, though death has destroyed 
their body, in exactly the same way as we should now 
prove to ourselves the existence of other minds than our 
own here on earth and in the body. We must be able to 
find proof of the existence of mental life even when the 

1 Portions of this chapter are taken from an article of mine published 
in the Educational lieview, Vol. 24, entitled, " Professor Hyslop's Report 
on Mrs. Piper and the Doctrine of Immortality." The reader is referred 
to this article. 

139 



140 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



1 1 



body to which that mental life belonged no longer furnishes 
the evidence. In short, we must prove the existence of 
other minds; but this time other minds no longer in the 
body. But we have already shown that we can never 
assert the existence of another mind except in so far as 
we find some bodily parts, or bodily expression, that by 
analogy we can identify as an outward manifestation of a 
mind dwelling in it. The mind of another, as such, is 
something beyond all possible observation. The only 
mental states that can be revealed to us directly are our 
own; therefore there remains but the one source of infor- 
mation, those material objects and motions that by analogy 
we attribute to mental authorship. 
The proof Thus to prove immortality scientifically, that is, by 

oi'bodny^^^* facts gained through sense observation, we must find 
acts whose some physical events whose author must be an intelli- 

authorship • • i i i xi j. i t • 

we can gent mind, and whose author cannot be any living man, 

identify. and then, secondly, whose author's character is so defi- 
nitely marked that we can identify him with the same 
surety with which we ordinarily identify the author of 
any invention, book, work of art, or governmental policy. 
Further, to prove our immortality this disincarnate author 
must have been a living man or woman like ourselves. 
Otherwise expressed, we have to seek in the material 
world for evidence of the continued life of those who 
have died, just as now we readily find in that same 
material world evidence of the existence of minds other 
than our own. 
But are But are there no other ways than this to answer the 

other ^eans <luestion scientifically ? ^ Can we not find out through a 
of proof? study of the minds of those now living what the fate of 
these minds must be? This question should indeed be 
answered first. Such evidence would have to be of one of 

1 The reader must remember that we are here asking only what would 
constitute a scientific proof of immortal it}''. As a doctrine of religion we 
shall deal with it in a later chapter (Chapter L). 



IMMORTALITY 141 

two kinds. First, we should have to show that injury to 
the body or serious destruction of brain-tissue has no 
power to annihihite consciousness. Secondly, we might 
show instead that the substance of the mind cannot be 
destroyed or annihilated, and therefore that death cannot 
take away the mind's life. 

Let us examine the first of these possible proofs. Mani- a. Surely 
festly all evidence we have is against such an hypothesis, "^^^^foi^^i 
Injury to the brain certainly causes most serious mental cai psy- 
disturbance. In the loss of an organ of sense we have ^ ^ °^^' 
blotted out for us one of the chief sources of our mental life. 
With aphasia serious mental losses are usually found to 
be present. In a serious interference with the brain's blood 
supply, consciousness disappears, at least as far as outward 
signs are concerned and as far as the person's memory 
afterward is able to testify. But perhaps the opponent 
would urge: all this does not prove that the conscious- 
ness does not exist. It may be that all outward signs 
have gone, and it may also be that memory fails utterly 
to bear witness ; but still may it not be that the conscious- 
ness still exists, broken off from the main stream ? We 
reply, that from such sheer ignorance on our part you 
cannot prove that consciousness does exist. Even if we 
do find that very serious disturbances may happen to 
divorce large parts of our stream of consciousness quite 
from the main stream, and that these side streams do still 
exist, it will not follow that when a far more serious dis- 
turbance, such as death, takes place, the lack of all mani- 
festation of consciousness proves its existence. Clearly 
this would be absurd. To apply to the case of death any 
such truths as va^y be learned concerning side streams 
of consciousness, we shall have to do what our original 
statement claimed, namely, search after death for the evi- 
dence, not before death. Inasmuch as death does bring 
in a very new element, we cannot discount it, but must 
seek for its effects alone where it has taken place. 



142 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



b. The im- 
mortality of 
a spiritual 
substance 
not necessa- 
rily an im- 
mortality of 
the person- 
ality. 



Thus we are 
forced back 
to our origi- 
nal position. 



But liow about the second possible proof of immortality, 
tlie indestructibility of the substance of the mind? This 
is a very old, but also a very inadequate argument. Even 
the ofrossest materialism admits the continued existence 
of the soul's substance, that is, for it, the matter com- 
posing the brain. But, granting that the soul's substance 
persists, be that substance what it may, this in no way 
proves that death does not so alter the organization and 
surroundings of that substance that its old life, or mani- 
festation, can no longer be what it was. And if you urge 
against this, that the soul's substance is a unit, and that 
therefore its structure cannot be disorganized, still we 
have undeniable facts that tell how the soul can undergo 
changes that mean the temporary loss of consciousness, of 
memory, and of rationality. If the soul can lose conscious- 
ness, or memory, or rationality for two seconds, we are 
bound to admit the possibilit}^ of its losing them forever. 
Therefore your argument leaves the question just where 
it was ; for what comfort is it to us to be told our soul is 
immortal, if its life after death be as little a continuation 
of its present life as are the unconscious moments of the 
deepest faint or the dread delusions of a raving maniac? 
The immortality that men seek and count alone worth 
calling immortality, means a continuation of their pres- 
ent life, its personality and memories. Of this 3-ou give 
no proof whatever. 

Thus we are forced back to our original position. If 
we are to prove the immortality of our minds, we must 
seek for signs after death of the continued life of that 
mind. Hence our remaining problem is to ask, and to 
determine as far as philosophic reflection can determine, 
where shall such evidence be found? If we admit, as we 
have been forced to admit, that the onl}^ source of such 
evidence of continued mental life will be found within 
the world's physical manifestations, then it is here we 
must seek. As there is no evidence of another's mental 



IMMORTALITY 143 

life but the physical signs or effects of that life, so like- 
wise after death there can be no evidence of another's con- 
tinued mental life but through some physical manifestation 
thereof. 

Now does this mean that you and I are to look, as does This does 
popular spiritualism, for strange and fantastic perform- ^0*^'^^° 
ances after the fashion of miracles ? No, it does not, for spiritu- 
one very good reason. Any such performance must be ex- ^^^^"^' 
plained in accordance with the law of the conservation of 
energy; and this will mean that we shall never be satis- 
fied with aught but a mechanical explanation of it. But 
what, as far as our information enables us to predict, will 
such an explanation always be ? It will be that the strange 
or wonderful performance is due either to the chance work- 
ing of some forces of nature or to the brain of some living 
human being. And if these wonderful performances are 
such that they give evidence of mental authorship, then 
surely we should be departing from all analogy did we 
not seek for some human brain as their immediate cause. 
In short, sooner or later we come to the conclusion that 
the one place in all the world of physical events where we 
may expect mind to reveal itself is through the working 
of some brain. The miracles in a spiritualistic seance or As we have 
elsewhere merely set the inquirer on a search for some ^^^"' *^.® 

•^ i _ ... only evi- 

man's brain as the cause ; and this means some living brain, deuce of 

Hence our search for evidence of a life after death must ^i^^^^g^tije 
be guided by clews quite different from the wonders of the bodily ex- 
magician. We must go back again, and ask anew what are tharmind. 
the only proofs of the existence of any mind other than our The problem 
own. The special type of proof now desired must be one taiitymu'st 

of this sort. fail within 

What are the more general proofs? As we have seen, problem. 
you and I never see into one another's minds, and there 
behold the thoughts as they come and go. " Each of these 
minds keeps its own thoughts to itself. There is no giving 
or bartering between them. No thought ever comes into 



144 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

direct sight of a thought in another personal consciousness 
than its own. Absolute isolation, irreducible pluralism, 
is the law. . . . Neither contemporaneity, nor proximity 
in space, nor similarity of quality and content, is able to 
fuse thoughts together which are sundered by this barrier 
of belonging to different personal minds. The breaches 
between such thoughts are the most absolute breaches in 
nature." What would you and I know of the mental life 
of our nearest friend if that friend were not in the body ? 
He could not talk or write to us, he could not perform 
those daily acts of life that reveal his character and his 
aims, his likes and dislikes, his joys and sorrows, his 
cleverness and moral stability. What should or could we 
learn without the body to bridge the awful chasm between 
mind and mind? Clearly nothing; for were this not so, 
you and I might know just as much about the minds of 
men whom we have never seen, of whom we have never 
heard, whose writings we have never read, as we know 
about those of the members of our own household. But 
as a matter of fact, we know absolutely nothing about a 
mind from which we are thus cut off, except in so far as 
we ascribe to it those general traits that we find present 
in all the minds we do know. To cut the ai'gument short, 
you and I are limited to one single class of facts for all 
information about the minds of our fellow-men, and even 
for their existence. This class of facts is made up solely 
of the deeds and activities of their bodies. Their utter- 
ances, their writings, their facial and bodily expressions, 
their work and their play, these and other bodily acts tell 
all that is ever told. 

But right here we have physiology stepping forward 
and telling us that it is possible to narrow things down 
even more. Back of the activity and deeds of the body, 
starting them, guiding and controlling them, are the 
nervous system and, above all, the brain. The brain is 
the true and only organ by which mind is able to commu- 



IMMOETALITY 145 

nicate with mind, by whicli the gulf between them can be But, fur- 
passed. We have no facts whatsoever in all the length bodn^'ex 
and breadth of creation to lead us to hold that mind in pression 
any way ever accomplishes aught in this material world ^^'J^a^j.^^^ 
of ours except through the brain or nervous system of expression 
some animal. Mind wrote Shakespeare's plays; but it or nervous 
used a brain and nervous system to guide the muscles of system, 
the arms and fingers in doing so. Shakespeare might, as 
a pure spirit, have dreamed his plays ; but how would you 
or I now have them, had they not been written by some 
brain, the servant of his mind? Think as long as you 
will, search over the wide world, where will you find any 
other means by which mind reveals itself to its fellow- 
minds but through some brain ? ^ 

And now for the question at issue. If we are to get 

1 This means, of course, that, as far as we know, the nervous system is 
the only mechanism the mind directly controls. Whether there be other 
mechanisms for mental expression is not a question to be answered a 
priori. However, the proof of the existence of other minds must be from 
the analogy of our own minds and what they do ; and the question that 
raises itself is : What do we take in our own bodily life as the true ex- 
pression of our mind ? In daily life we surely take almost all our out- 
ward deeds. But to make our argument absolutely perfect, it may be 
that we should take only the action of that mechanism which is the 
direct and immediate organ of mind, whether this be the brain or some 
unknown mechanism. But may it not be that we should set aside the 
question of organ altogether and rather emphasize the meaning, or 
teleology, of our deeds and hold to this as the true outward expression 
of mind? Against this we might urge the seeming intelligence of un- 
conscious instinctive reactions. Still, hi any case, we have to use the 
best we have ; and this means that in daily life intelligent, or teleological, 
conduct is usually sufficient proof of the presence of mind. Hence it 
may be that I go too far in saying that the dead would have to reveal 
their continued existence through some living brain. Perhaps other means 
of intelligent action might be open to them and be such that it could 
form the necessary evidence for our proof. 

However, as we know mind, it needs a brain to express itself, and 
hence science should give preference to a search in this direction for the 
desired evidence. This statement modifies slightly the position taken in 
the article referred to in the note at the beginning of this chapter. 



146 



INTKODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Thns vre 
must seek 
our facts 
among the 
activities of 
some living 
brain ; and 
seek in tlaese 
facts evi- 
dence for 
personal 
identity. 



any evidence of the life beyond death of a mind that 
once made itself known to us here on earth, ^yhere are 
we to get that evidence, and what sort of evidence must 
it be? Where? Why, if at all, through some brain. 
And through whose brain? Surely not through the old 
brain now decayed or partly disorganized. But where, 
then ? Surely through the brain of some living man or 
woman. And what sort of evidence must it be ? Ulti- 
mately, without an exception, just the same sort that 
men use to identify the author of any communication. 
Ordinarily you and I are very uncritical about such identi- 
fication. Whatever expression comes from Peter's body 
is without any hesitation at all ascribed by us to Peter's 
mind. In this way it is a very easy task for us to iden- 
tify Peter's writing as long as we are present; but put 
Peter two or three thousand years ago, and make his com- 
munication to us only a great-grandchild co]3y of Peter's 
own writing, then to make sure that he was the author 
is no easy task. However, no matter what the occasion, 
if we are seriously critical, there is but one way on the 
face of the earth to identify Peter's authorship; and that 
way is, not to find out whether Peter's brain did the work, 
but to learn whether Peter's mind did the work. How 
can we do this ? Simply by comparing the communication 
in question with what we accept as the standard com- 
munication of the mind we call Peter's, and thus prove 
their common authorship. Did the same mind express 
itself in Othello that expressed itself in Hamlet? That 
is always the ultimate question. Our friend now talking 
to us should be judged to be the same Peter as ever, only 
because the contents and character of his words are those 
of Peter's old self. Rob the words of every similarity 
to Peter's words of old, and what proof have you that 
Paul's mind has not taken Peter's brain ? Of course such 
doings are not in the usual order of things. Of course a 
moment later Peter may return to Peter's wa3's and tell 



IMMORTALITY 147 

US it was he all along. But before Peter comes back to his 
old self again, in that moment, and judging Peter all by 
himself, where is your evidence? You have none what- 
soever. 

Now what does all this mean for our problem ? It means 
just one thing. Either science must give up the whole 
problem of determining whether life continues after death, 
and acknowledge itself incompetent to answer the ques- 
tion ; or science must seek in living brains and bodies for 
acts that it can and must ascribe to a mind once known to 
express itself through a body now dead. 

Thus it follows that the proof of immortality must con- But can 
sist in identifying the authorship of some expression of f^'^^^'^'^^o 
mind, thereby showing the author now dead to be really Three possi- 
alive. Whether such evidence can be found or not admits ^ answers, 
of three possible answers. 

First, we may actually find the facts here referred to ; i. Finding 
and then of course we shall have the answer that proves fjJ^J^in^ 
such evidence can be found. But to search for such facts question. 
is the work of science, and not that of philosophical 
reflection. 

The second and third answers attempt to combat the 2. The 
possibility of any such evidence. The second maintains o^*^^gcts that 
that it is impossible for a disincarnate mind to commu- the dead 
nicate through the brain of some one now living, for to j^^g^ ^ ^^_ 
do this there would have to be some material mechanism teriai soul 

,T ^ j_i'i ^ i'i to commu- 

accompanymg the departed mmd, and a mecnanicai con- njcate with 
nection between the living brain and this outside mechan- ^^s. 
ism. This would be so, it might be urged, because by 
the principle of the conservation of energy the brain can- 
not be acted upon except by some mechanical means. To 
all this we can only reply, it is a question for science to 
solve, what the ultimate mechanism is by which the mind 
acts through the brain. Until we know just what this 
mechanism is, and until we know that it could not be pos- 
sessed by a disincarnate mind, we do not know whether 



148 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



3. The 
material- 
ist's objec- 
tion tliat the 
mind de- 
pends quite 
upon the 
brain for its 
existence. 



Reply to this 
objection. 
No evidence 
for existence 
is not evi- 
dence of 
non-exist- 
ence. 



such intercommunication is possible or not. All we do 
know is, that mind acts through brain; and whether two 
or more minds can act through the same brain we do not 
know. As far as we know, mind cannot reveal itself 
to mind but through some brain ; therefore, unless disin- 
carnate minds reveal themselves to us in this way we seem 
cut off absolutely from them. 

The third and last way of answering our question would 
be by showing definitely that the mind depends upon the 
brain for its existence, and that without brain mind can- 
not be. This of course would put an end to the whole 
question of immortality by solving it in the negative. 
That this doctrine cannot be established has been, of 
course, presupposed in our whole discussion of immor- 
tality. However, it deserves most serious consideration, 
yet a very brief consideration. As we have now clearly 
seen, our one way of knowing minds other than our own 
to exist is through their brains and the bodily states these 
brains regulate. Have we any right to twist this state- 
ment about, and to say any mind not manifesting itself 
through some brain does not exist? Clearly this would 
be a fallacy. 

What, then, remains of the opponent's doctrine ? Only 
this : The effect that brain injury or brain condition in 
general has upon a mind. Yet, the question at issue is 
not this fact, but only its true significance for immortality. 

Now mark well. When our minds betray the effect of 
brain injury upon them, they simply tell us what is, as 
far as the mind knows — not what is not. All sorts of 
possibilities remain. Perhaps the mental states do actu- 
ally stop existing — perhaps they do so in sleep — and 
perhaps one condition of their revival is the restoration 
of normal brain activity. But have we any right to as- 
sume that the brain, the only known instrument of their 
revival, is the only one? We surely have not. Then, 
again, perhaps even in what seems to be the deepest un- 



IMMORTALITY 149 

consciousness, conscious life continues to exist, though 
we do not remember it. 

Thus science may be justified in saying: We cannot 
maintain the existence of a consciousness tliat fails to mani- 
fest itself even to the mind of the person to whom it would 
naturally belong (for example, when our memory of any 
mental life during ether intoxication or during any simi- 
lar period of unconsciousness is nW)-, but science is not 
justified in saying that no such consciousness exists, or 
in saying that if it does not, it never will except through 
a revival of the brain to its normal state. We have per- 
haps no scientific right to affirm ; but we surely have no 
scientific right to deny. 

What, then, are we to say is the outcome of our dis- Conclusion 
cussion ? 

First, we set aside any philosophic proof of immortality. 
It is not a question for philosophy to answer, but for 
empirical science in the light of facts that now escape us, 
if they exist. As philosophers, we hand over the question 
to science. 

Secondly, our philosophic study of the only way in 
which mind can reveal itself to mind indicates to us the 
main lines along which such facts are to be found by 
science, if found they ever are, or if exist they ever do. 
The evidence that proves the existence of another mind 
is from analogy, and to prove it, a resemblance must be 
established between the physical manifestation of that sup- 
posed mind and the physical manifestations of our own 
minds. Here in the realm of physical events, in the 
products of some living brain, you and I must search for 
the only facts that could give us the evidence of immor- 
tality. 

Whether such facts have ever been found, or ever will 
be, we as philosophers do not know. That is for science 
to determine. However, one thing, as philosophers, we 
have to say: the non-existence of life after death cannot 



150 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

be proved by science. At the most, immortality must 
remain an open question. We dare not change the propo- 
sition, the mind depends upon the brain for its manifes- 
tation, into, the mind depends upon the brain for its 
existence. It may be so, but the evidence for that quite 
escapes us and always must. 



CHAPTER XVII 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSERVATION ^ 



We have now studied the differentiation of mind from 
the material world. Then, too, we have studied the char- 
acter of the proof that might reveal to us the existence of 
minds other than our own and their destiny after death. 
We have next to study the laws that govern our minds. 

In the physical world, whenever we behold any event 
taking place whose cause is not at the time evident to us, 
we never hesitate to start out in search of such a cause; 
for we believe it must have existed in some way that 
would make it evident. Thus you and I go into our 
sitting room in the morning after a night's rest and look 
toward the mantel to learn the time from the clock that 
stands there. We are not surprised to find it ticking 
away and the hands in a different position from that in 
which they were when last we saw the clock. Moreover, 
if we begin to reflect how the hands have moved in our 
absence, it does not take us long to infer that the taut 
spring has been gradually releasing its energy as the 
pendulum permitted, second by second, all night long, and 
has thereby forced around the wheels that in turn moved 
the hands. It is quite evident that we could here con- 
struct a mental picture of the series of events that 



Nature is a 
continuous 
series of 
events 
which ad- 
mits of an 
ideal recon- 
struction on 
tlie part of 
science. 



^ Parallel Beading. 

The student should read in connection with this chapter pp. 253-259 
in James' Psychology (Briefer Course), New York, 1892, or even the 
whole chapter on Association, also pp. 287-295. 

As a further reference, of. Munsterberg, Grundziige, Bd. I, S. 77 ff. 

151 



152 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

have led the one to the other, and that would connect 
causally the position of the hands at ten o'clock the 
night before with that at eight o'clock this morning. 
The same general state of affairs obtains throughout 
natural science. You and I who live to-day are the lineal 
descendants of men that lived thousands, and perhaps 
millions, of years ago; and if we accept the doctrine of 
animal evolution, we are the lineal descendants of ani- 
mals that lived millions and millions of years before that. 
Now no one of us would doubt that there is a series 
of connecting links from child to parent and from parent 
to grandparent, and so on all the way back from us to the 
earliest life whence we spring. Of course no man can 
work out such a genealogical series for himself, and it is 
doubtful whether he can even for the race. But none the 
less we firmly believe that there was such a series, and 
we seek to reconstruct it here and there from the data 
that we can find. 

Or, again, take the geography of any part of the earth. 
Geological study reveals to us that great changes have 
taken place in the course of past ages, making what was 
once dry land an ocean's bottom, and what was once an 
ocean's bottom, a mountain top. Now all these changes 
we believe to have been gradual ; but whether they were 
or not, they resulted because of the definite physical con- 
ditions that existed at the time and gave rise to others. 
Likewise, too, if we find in the Orient or in America the 
ruins of some ancient cit}'', scholars attempt to give us a 
mental reconstruction of the place. They work out from 
the data that they find, a knowledge of the civilization of 
the people that lived there, how and when the city came 
to be built, how the civilization died out, and how the 
place came to be abandoned. In short, we believe there 
was a series of events that fully explain what we now 
find, and we believe it is theoretically possible to make 
an intellectual reconstruction for ourselves of that very 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSEEVATION 153 

series or parts of it. In this way the whole natural or 
material world in all its past history makes a series in 
which one stage gives rise to the next; and, theoretically 
speaking, although this is often not practically possible, 
we can gain a knowledge of just what state of affairs, or 
stage, in the series preceded and gave rise to the state 
that we may be studying. 

However, when we come to the mental world all is in the men- 
different. Theoretically as well as practically, it is im- jg different, 
possible for us to reconstruct a series of mental events for i* ^^ impos- 
any considerable length of time without meeting great construct 
gaps in the series that must remain unfilled forever. As ^°y ?"^^ 

° ^ continuous 

you, reader, see the printed words on this page, the series, 
vision in your mind is of course a mental state. If we 
ask whence it came, the only answer we can give is to 
trace it to certain unknown nervous activities, caused in 
your occipital lobes, Avhich in turn arose from a nervous 
shock carried there by the optic nerve from the retina of 
your eyes. From here we can trace it back to the light 
reflected by the page into your eyes. Of course this is 
not the whole story. Psychology tells us that were it not 
for your past education you would not be able to discrimi- 
nate at all acutely the little black letters, nor would you be 
able to recognize the words and their meaning. Further, 
without such education and mental habits already formed, 
you could not be interested enough in what you are now 
reading to pay attention to it. 

But here again, if you ask us to reconstruct the series 
that will explain causally your recognition and attention, 
that make up such a large element in the mental states we 
call "reading," what are we to say? What events imme- 
diately precede your reading this instant and form the 
causal explanation of it? There are clearly no mental 
events to which we can refer. At the best, we shall have 
to explain it in terms of brain centres and brain paths set 
into activity by the shocks coming from the retinas into 



154 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPllY 



The mental 
■pro rid is a 
series of 
quite dis- 
connected 
parts. 



the occipital lobes. True, we have the practical difficulty 
of knowing next to nothing about these brain centres and 
paths. Still we do believe they exist, and that were our 
knowledge only extended enough we could get a complete 
series of causal events leading from cause to effect up to 
the very instant when, for some mysterious reason, your 
mind got the mental states we call reading. 

But why not take a case where the point is even more 
evident? You lie asleep on a couch when suddenly an 
alarm bell sounds. Immediately you pass from a state of 
(as far as we know) complete unconsciousness to a con- 
dition of consciousness. Now what is the causal series ? 
Surely if the mental world were in this respect like the 
physical world, we should expect to find that one state 
of consciousness was immediately preceded by others, its 
causes or conditions, and they in turn by others, and so on 
back from moment to moment to the time of our birth. 
But even there we should not be able to stop any more 
than we stop there in explaining our physical descent from 
our parents. We should have to trace this mental world 
back beyond our birth, not only a few moments or years, 
but even centuries and aeons. Now no such thing is pos- 
sible. We have not the faintest hope of finding any such 
complete series of mental states succeeding one another 
without break from moment to moment. If there be such 
a mental series, then it lies wholly bej'ond our ken. 

Thus, as we know the mental world, and as we can 
alone know it, it presents a picture entirely different 
from that of the physical world. Instead of being one 
continuous picture, it is made up of many pictures, and 
these completely separated the one from the other. That 
is, not only is mind separated from mind, but also one 
day's, or maybe one hour's, mental life is completely 
separated from the other within the very same mind. 
Just as our previous discussion has shown us that the 
only connecting links between mind and mind are physical 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSERVATION 155 

events ; so, also, clo we now find that from day to day and 
from moment to moment the mental stream within the 
one mind is constantly broken, and that we have only 
physical facts to fill up the gaps. 

This entire difference between the picture of the world Does this 
01 mental events and that or physical events gives rise at rHy alter 
once to questions concerning how far our methods of inter- °^^^ method 
preting the two worlds can be similar and how far they ing the men- 
must be different. Let us reflect on this problem. There t^i world? 

. '- There are 

are three questions to ask. three prob- 

First : Must we seek for the causes of mental events ^®™^" 
among phj^sical events, and even go so far as always to 
do this ? Or, on the other hand, can there be a psychology 
in the same sense that there is a physics ; namel}^, a de- 
scription of a complete causal series in terms of psychical 
events ? 

Secondly : Must we sup]3ose that unknown to us there 
is, in fact, a complete mental series ; though we perceive 
only those parts of it that make up the mental content 
of the moment and that memory reveals to us, and must 
rely for the rest that we know upon analogy? Clearly 
most of the mental world would have to remain forever 
hidden because no analogy with our own minds could 
reveal it; and hence we ask: Could we rightly infer such 
complete continuity in the mental world as that which 
we find in the physical world, and explain the insular 
picture we have of it by the statement, The rest is 
hidden forever from us ? 

Thirdly : Can we suppose, or rather must we suppose, 
that there is for mental events a law of conservation 
similar to the law of conservation of mass and motion 
that holds of physical events ? 

Let us take these questions up in order. In regard to 
the first question, it is at once evident that in the great 
mass of instances we must appeal to physical events to 
give any explanation of why we have the mental states 



156 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



I. Not only- 
must physi- 
cal events 
1)8 appealed 
to in order 
to assist in 
the interpre- 
tation of 
mental 
events, 



but they 
must also 
serve as the 
very basis 
of explana- 
tion. 

The ideal 
psychology 
must be 
physiologi- 
cal. 



that we do. Why do I now see the page of blank paper, 
the pen and the ink? Why? Amongst other reasons, 
because physical events give rise to certain unknown 
occurrences in my brain. In all this world we cannot find 
any mental event that will explain my perception as it 
is now explained by the physical stimulus and the brain 
changes that they cause. If there be such a mental event, 
it is entirely hidden from us. 

But if there cannot be a psychology as complete and 
continuous as physics, must we go to the extreme of 
asserting that all our mental states must be explained 
physiologically, that all psychology must, if perfectly 
worked out, be a physiological psychology? Can mental 
states nowhere explain one another causally? 

In recoQ^nition it looks as thouo'h the face sug-gests the 
name, and in reasoning it looks as though the premise 
leads us to the conclusion through its very content or 
meaning. In memory we often feel that our wills or 
the significance of the occasion determines the revival 
of past experience, and in volition we feel that our deci- 
sion and conduct are the direct outcome of the spiritual 
struggle. But even in such cases the causal relation is 
not mental. Seemingly we are forced back to physiology 
for what explanation we can give, no matter how little 
that may be. 

Now what proof have we for such a conclusion — a con- 
clusion that to many must seem quite radical? The 
answer is this. As far as we know any given mental 
state can be followed by any other you wish to name. A 
may be followed by B; but why B more than F or L? 
Or, to express it in the concrete. As I look at my cubical 
glass ink-well, it makes me think of a cake of ice. 
Now, if we leave out the chain of physical events in the 
nervous system, there is no reason whatsoever why it 
might not have made me think of anything else in place 
of the cake of ice. That is, if we were rigidly to exclude 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSERVATION 157 

the influence of physical events, the succession of our men- 
tal states would entirely lack any real uniformity. The 
same state, as far as we can ever call two mental states the 
same, is just as liable to be followed by any other you 
may wish to name as by the state that followed it on the 
previous occasion. You may reply, Similarity or con- 
tiguity explains why one mental state is recalled by 
another. That there is a similarity, or that there is a v" 
contiguity, we grant, and even that indirectly a law of 
contiguity or similarity does work causally; but still, in 
any given case, why does my mind work according to 
similarity, the next instant according to contiguity, the 
next, say, according to recency, intensity, or some other 
law of association? Ultimately there is no reason but 
habit or instinct to give me even a clew to an explana- 
tion. In short, our minds are a complete enigma to us 
except in so far as we can bring some order into the con- 
fusion by making use of brain physiology. Wh}^ A should 
call up F, because of the recency of F, rather than (7, 
associated by long contiguity or close similarit}'-, defies 
explanation in mental terms ; or why A is next followed 
by Cr or ^instead of hy F. Our mental states come and 
go, all according to their own sweet will, as far as the 
mental picture alone is concerned. 

But why must this be so? Why must our mental life The very 
consist of such non-continuous occurrences? There are neweie- 
several reasons. New factors are constantly entering in, ™ents are 
and that, too, in such complexity that a succession of purely added to " 
mental events is never found. Impressions from without ?.y ^^entai 

... life through 

the mind are constantly altering our associations. Then, stimulus 
too, there is every reason to believe that the whole basis ^^°™ "^\*^" 

/ , , . . out, makes 

/ of association comes to us through heredity, and is only the physical 
modified by experience. In short, the factor here rep- ^^"^^^"^^^ ^^ 
resented by instinct enters into all our associations, factor, 
because they are all but modified instincts. Now, evi- 
dently, the impression from without must be discussed 



158 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOniT 



II. The 
problem of 
Panpsy- 
cliism. 



III. The 
problem of 
Mental 
Conserva- 
tiou. 



in physiological terms, as must be also our instincts. 
Our information gives us in the nervous system alone the 
means of explaining perception and inherited associations 
or instincts. Even though you believe that in reality the 
mental world is not any more fragmentary than the physi- 
cal, still we are so limited ultimately to observing our 
own thoughts alone, and others' only by analogy, that our 
picture of it must be fragmentary even after we have ac- 
complished every conceivable reconstruction. The physi- 
cal world knowledge can reconstruct from our data into 
a spatial and temporal continuity; but our mental world 
can never have its gaps filled up, even though we be 
obliged, for good reasons, to believe that in reality those 
gaps do not exist. 

Now to ask whether those gaps do really exist or not, is 
asking whether there are mental states outside of our nor- 
mal stream of consciousness giving rise to all that takes 
place within it; and whether, when our normal mental 
life stops, as in sleep or trance or faint, it is followed 
by outside mental states, its effects. Are our apparently 
discontinuous mental states but a series of islands raising 
their forms above an ocean surface and seeming to be but 
isolated fragments, whereas in reality they are one con- 
tinuous, but for the greater part submerged, continent? 
Those who maintain this view and who believe that the 
mental world is coextensive with the physical are called 
Panpsychists. If they are right, the mental world, though 
mostly hidden from our perception, is just such a con- 
tinuous and eternal series of events as is the ph3^sical 
world. But this problem — the second of our three — 
we must for the time set aside. 

The third problem is that of mental conservation. The 
answer to this problem must be similar to that of mental 
causation. We have a very different world to deal with 
when we come to mind from that which we have in deal- 
ing with the material world. The similarity between the 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSERVATION 159 

two AYorlcls comes chiefly from the intimate relationship 
between mind and body ; and thus truths holding of the 
body seem almost to hold of the mind, whereas in truth 
they hold only of those bodily activities which correspond 
'to the mind. 

Now, first of all, we have learned that the laws of con- As far as 
servation are ultimately but laws of permanent quantita- tioninvoi'ves 
tive relations holding universally in the physical world; spatial reia- 
and that the mental world is not quantitative in all the not hold of 
ways in which the spatial world is, iust because it is not conscious- 

I16SS. 

a spatial world. Thus we have quite a different prob- 
lem when we try to apply quantitative relations to the 
mind. But to what extent can we find quantitative 
relations in mental states ? Clearly all spatial relations 
are barred out as being at the most only figures of Sjoeech 
when applied to the mind. We talk about the field of 
consciousness, its contents, and so on ; but consciousness 
is not spatially a field, nor does it spatially contain. The 
limitations of its field, as, for example, the limitations 
of the field of vision, represent literally a spatial limita- 
tion only in the sense that the object as perceived has such 
limitations. The consciousness as consciousness can be 
limited only in so far as it does not contain at one time 
all conceivable impressions and ideas. Likewise our 
power to attend is limited, but not spatially limited. 

Thus we cannot divide up consciousness into geometri- Nor can 
cal parts. At the best we can divide it up temporally, and conserva- 
we can analyze it into those sentient elements that come tionof sen- 

. 1 • . • 1 • xi rp, tient atoms. 

to US now m one combination and now m another. Ihen, 
too, we can talk about intensity; one pain or one light is 
intenser than another. But note well: are such differ- 
ences aught but qualitative ? The thought moving slowly 
through our minds and the same thought rushing quickly 
by are, when looked at solely as mental states, not the 
same thoughts, but very different ones. The thing to 
which they have reference, or which they picture, may be 



160 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

the same ; but they are not. A similarity doubtless exists 
between them; but we cannot say that one is the other 
lengthened, out like the time of a wheel's revolution. 
The same is true of intensities. Ultimately the only way 
to apply a standard of measurement to the mind would 
be to seek ultimate simple sentient elements, and then 
decide what sentient elements any given psychosis con- 
J tained. Thus, at the best, our mental life can be meas- 
ured only in terms of sentient elements that we find 
for us unanalyzable, or atomic. But, you ask, if this 
be so, is there not possibly a mental conservation just 
in terms of these very atoms ? Are they not, like the 
physical atoms, permanent entities ; and must we not con- 
ceive of consciousness as built of these atoms ? No doubt, 
as a matter of description, we may adopt the results of 
mental analysis ; but the atoms thus resulting do not 
fulfil the same office as physical atoms. Against the per- 
sistence of such mental atoms we can urge many of the 
objections urged against purely mental causation. These 
atoms disappear from all observation; they are not con- 
served like physical atoms. We have no right to suppose 
that they may not come into existence and go out of exist- 
ence. Of course this is true also of physical atoms ; but 
in the case of the physical atoms we have the ultimate 
relations of mass and motion to fall back upon.^ In the 
case of consciousness we have nothing of the sort. The 
only place to get anything approaching conservation is 

1 In fact, the conservation of atoms presupposes space. Two physical 
atoms otherwise alike can be distinguished by their positions in space. 
Two sentient atoms, however, could not be so distinguished except as 
they were observed at one time. From moment to moment we could not 
tell whether we had the same atom again or a different one. In the 
spatial world position enables us to do so ; but in the mental world •<ve 
have no position. Thus from moment to moment there could be neither 
identification nor distinction of atoms. A physical atom, therefore, can 
theoretically be observed to have a continuous life from moment to 
moment; not so, however, a sentient atom. 



MENTAL CAUSATION AND CONSERVATION 161 

in the uniformity that obtains between mind and brain 
activity. In short, if we seek relations that are con- 
served, they must be found in the pliysical world. This 
means that the conservation of physical mass and motion 
must be invoked to explain the phenomena of mind in 
exactly the same way that it was invoked to explain the 
secondary qualities. That is, just as we found that the 
secondary qualities must be interpreted in relation to a 
world all of whose elements are conserved, so also now 
do we find that our mental states must in like manner be 
explained in relation to this same world. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL ^ 

liST the problem of the freedom of the will, we mean to 
limit ourselves to the question, Wliether all mental events 
obey the general laiv of causation just as do physical events? 
Does uniformity of coexistence and sequence obtain be- 
tween mental events and between mental events and phj^si- 
ological events ? Can we, theoretically speaking, predict 
future mental events just as we predict physical events ? 
Or, on the other hand, are some at least of the mental 
events, namely, those called volitions, or acts of will, 
exceptions to the general rule ? Can we ever under any 
given set of conditions will, or choose, otherwise than we 
actually do? 
Science pre- There seems but one answer to be given to this ques- 
supposesthe ^^^j^^ p^-y^ ^^^ mental life does come under the general 

same uni- ° 

formity in law of causatiou, cxactly as does any other series of 
l^^i"^^„1*f„ events in the world. The work of science, in the case 

world as in ' 

thephysicaL of mind, like its work elsewhere, is to find out the laws 
of coexistence and sequence. Were our mental states 
without such laws, we should give up the work of learn- 
ing their laws. The very fact that we do have such a 
science as psychology leads one at once to find in science 

1 Parallel Beading. 

Paulsen, System of Ethics. Translated and edited by F. Thilly. New 
York, 1899. Book II, Chapter IX. 

G. F. Stout, A Manual of Psychology. London and New York, 1899. 
Book IV, Chapter X. 

James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, pp. 569 ff. "The Question 
of Free Will." 

162 



THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL 163 

this veiy presupposition about tlie mental life. However, 
its full justification involves a much broader problem than 
that of the philosophy of mind. The problem is that of 
universal causation. This we must study later in its 
general implications; and later still in the theory of 
knowledge we must determine its validity as a presup- 
position of all science. 

For the present, then, our problem is solely this : Does a lack of 
the science of the mind presuppose the universal presence formit^^' 
of causal uniformity there as elsewhere in the world? It would at 
certainly does do so. Did mental states arise indepen- fgr'^^^acos 
dently of their conditions, we should have in them purely mos into 
chaotic events — events with which we could not deal 
scientifically. But, as a matter of fact, we never treat 
the mind thus. Of course the conditions giving rise to 
mental events are liable to be exceedingly complex, and 
therefore to admit of practical prediction only to a small 
extent. None the less we try to predict; we study in 
order that we may predict. We study the relations 
between character and heredity, between character and 
environment, assuming throughout the existence of a uni- 
formity for which we seek, or rather whose exact character 
we strive to learn. 

This does not mean that the mind itself plays no part Determin- 
in its career. That would be not to grant to the mind even p^a^iiguj. 
what we admit of a billiard ball. The ball's structure, its 
shape, its weight, all play a part in its history. It, itself, 
makes up part of the conditions of all its activities. So 
also does the mind. Necessitarianism, or Determinism, 
as this doctrine is variously called, in no way asserts that 
the mind is the mere creature of surrounding conditions. 
Far from that, for its whole nature must be taken into 
consideration in all it does. Under the same external 
conditions we do not expect two different minds to act 
in the same way. Concrete facts on every hand would 
contradict such a fatalism. 



CHAPTER XIX 



THE SOUL AND PERSONAL IDENTITY ^ 



What is the 

soul? 

It is not a 

material 

entity. 



We have studied the njind from the point of view of its 
manifestations. It remains for us to reflect concerning it 
as a thing to which we ascribe these manifestations. Is 
there a mind, or soul ? What is the soul ? These ques- 
tions must be answered in the reverse order. 

What is the soul ? Men of earlier times and the popu- 
lar mind even to-day have replied in a way very differ- 
ent from that in which we can now consistently do. A 
thing to them means some material object; and therefore 
the thing or substance of the mind is an object that admits 
of being seen and touched. True, it may not be quite so 
dense as ordinary objects about us. True, it may gener- 
ally be invisible and have the power to pass through walls 
or other obstacles. Yet it is material, and as such occu- 
pies space. It is seemingly of a semi-gaseous nature. 
It is like the breath. It is a ghost. 

Such notions of the soul quite fail to take account of 
the radical distinction we had to make between mental 
states and material events. Yet even so, this does not 
entirely explain the difficulty. We all feel in closer 
touch with the material world than with the mental ; and 
for all of us a material thing has that evident reality we 
demand of every object to which we ascribe substantiality. 
Touch and vision are such natural criteria of reality to 
every one, that whatever admits of neither seems only 

1 If the student has not already done so, he should not fail to read 
Professor James's very interesting chapter, "The Self," Chapter XII, in 
his Psychology (Briefer Course). 

164 



THE SOUL AND PEESONAL IDENTITY 165 

semi-real. In short, our habit demands that a thing to 
be a thing must be a material thing. But this habit 
leads us into error. It is a remnant in us of a primitive 
manner of thought — a remnant that is to no little de- 
•gree responsible for the difficulty each one at first feels in 
accepting the sharp distinction between mind and body. 
We demand that mental states should inhere in a material 
being, like colors, or be one of its activities, like physical 
movements. Yet, as we know, our mental states are 
totally distinct from the qualities of the spatial world, 
and are in no sense motions. They are entirely non- 
spatial. Therefore, when we demand for their support 
the same material substantiality that we demand for spa- 
tial qualities and relations, we are but bringing over from 
one world to another a system that has no place in the 
latter. 

This same truth will be evident when we think of the it is not an 
way in which we should have to picture such a material *^^J®'^* °^ 

•^ _ , ^ _ sense-per- 

soul. Is it a semi-gaseous, or some other, reproduction ception. 
of our bodies ? Such it certainly has been in the mind 
of older generations, and such it is still in the minds of 
those who expect to live, in the world beyond the grave, 
a life of material companionship. The spirits are seen, 
are touched. We hold conversations with them. They 
have bodies, changed it is true, but none the less bodies 
patterned after the old body of this life. Now if we are 
to hold to such a material soul, there are but two valid 
claimants for the office. They are our body and our brain. 
Any other material soul bears too many marks of being 
the mere creature of fancy. Any other material soul, to 
justify itself, ought to be produced by its believers so 
that its existence may be reasonably evident to our senses. 
It must be within the field of reasonable experiment to 
make such a semi-gaseous soul visible or its presence 
otherwise evident. Yet who nowadays but would feel 
the experiment ridiculous — who but the extremely igno- 



166 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Thingness, 
or 

substanti- 
ality, has 
quite a dif- 
ferent mean- 
ing from all 
this. 



Thingness 
means the 
object's 
unity and 
permanence 
of structure. 



rant or superstitious ? Yes, if a material soul be the thing 
to which we must ascribe our mental states as manifesta- 
tions, then two things alone seem likely at present to win 
acceptance, the whole body or the brain. 

However, if the question at issue really rested upon 
such an argument as that just given, I for one should be 
disposed to side with either party or neither party. If 
in truth the soul be material, why may it not be any one 
of numerous things, any one at least as far as we know? 
Why may it not be the brain, why not some few cells of 
the brain, why not some imponderable ethereal object 
within the brain,- and if you believe in the infinite divisi- 
bility of matter^ why need you stop even there? Such an 
argument against the older crude notion of the material 
soul may appeal to the physiologist ; but, after all, if we 
are to reject that or any other material soul, we must 
search deeper. 

The mind is not material ; why then by any conceivable 
right do we demand for it a material substance as its sup- 
port? True it is, that brain states and mind are intimately 
connected;, yet, as we have seen, the two are entirely dif- 
ferent. A material substance in no way supplies us with 
the needed thingness for the mind. With such a mate- 
rial soul, the mind is not one whit more explicable than 
without it. If we granted the existence of such a soul 
this would tell us no more than if we merely said, what 
all admit, the mind and brain are most intimately related. 
Still even this is not a satisfactory answer; for we are 
pushed on to an entirely new problem : What is substance ? 
What is even that material substance we so glibly ascribe 
to all about us ? But this problem we must reserve for a 
later chapter in metaphysics. 

For the present we must be satisfied with a partial 
answer, yet an answer given in the light of what is to 
be said later. Why do we ascribe substantiality, or 
thingness, to any object? Clearly, as we know, because 



THE SOUL AND PERSONAL IDENTITY 167 

we can treat that object as a true unity ; because it is not 
a mere conglomerate of parts that have no deeper principle 
of union holding them together. A rock is more truly 
one thing than is a heap of sand. An animal is more 
truly one thing than is a cloud of dust. An atom is 
more truly a thing than are chemical compounds, because 
of the unity of its structure and the permanence of its 
character. In short, what makes a thino- a thinsf is this 
unity and permanence ; and ultimately we shall find that 
this sums up all we can mean by substance. Thus our 
question concerning the soul resolves itself into the fol- 
lowing: Does our mental life possess that unity of struc- 
ture and that permanence of character which justifies us 
in calling it a thing? If it does, then our mind, just 
because of this unity, is a soul. Its unity is the soul. 
And the principle and character of this unity are just 
what we mean by personal identity. 

When we carefully observe our mental life it is not, as Now the 
has been thought in past times, a mere succession of men- ^i°^ ^^.'^^ 

. . . . ]ust this 

tal states. Our mental life is not, as it were, a line of unity and 
bricks, each brick quite distinct by itself. Our mental ofg^uUt^r?- 
life has rather, psychology tells us, to be thought of as a and tws con- 
stream. Each successive state flows into the next and is |ou'^'''^^it jg 
no more separable from it than the river at point x is our personal 
separable from the river a foot higher up or lower down. ^ ^^ ^ '^■ 
In thought we can separate such parts and talk about 
them as though they were quite distinct things ; but in 
the really existing object we see at once what mere 
abstractions such so-called distinct things are. 

But there is still another truth holding of our mind. 
This stream of consciousness of which we have been talk- 
ing is a unity. No matter where we enter it, it is the 
same stream as that which went before and as that which 
will follow after. In some very real sense each one of 
our minds is the same as that which existed yesterday and 
that will exist to-morrow. To-day's self recognizes the 



168 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

self of yesterday and looks forward to the self of to-mor- 
row. In fact we never get, in our minds at least, such 
a complete separation of mental states that the stream 
of consciousness is made up of several minds, one giv- 
ing place in succession to another. All this has been 
so admirably described by Professor James that we shall 
borrow his account of it. 

" The thoughts which we actually know to exist do not 
fly about loose, but seem each to belong to some one 
thinker and not to another. Each thought, out of a mul- 
titude of other thoughts of which it may think, is able to 
distinguish those which belong to it from those which do 
not. The former have a warmth and intimacy about them 
of which the latter are completely devoid; and the result is 
a Me of yesterday, judged to be in some peculiarly subtle 
sense the same with the I who now make the judgment. 
As a mere subjective phenomenon the judgment presents 
no special mystery. It belongs to the great class of judg- 
ments of sameness ; and there is nothing more remarkable 
in making a judgment of sameness in the first person than 
in the second or the third. The intellectual operations 
seem essentially alike, whether I say ' I am the same as I 
was,' or whether I say ' The pen is the same as it was 
yesterday.' It is as easy to think this as to think the 
opposite and say 'Neither of us is the same.' The only 
question which we have to consider is whether it be a 
right judgment. Is the sameness predicated really there? 

"If in the sentence, 'I am the same that I was yester- 
day,' we take the 'I ' broadly, it is evident that in many 
ways I am not the same. As a concrete Me, I am some- 
what different from what I was : then hungry, now full ; 
then walking, now at rest; then poorer, now richer; then 
younger, now older; etc. And yet in other ways I am 
the same, and we may call these the essential ways. My 
name and profession and relations to the world are iden- 
tical, my face, my faculties, and store of memories are 



THE SOUL AND PEKSONAL IDENTITY 169 

practically indistinguishable, now and then. Moreover 
the Me of now and the Me of then are continuous; the 
alterations were gradual and never affected the whole of 
me at once. So far, then, my personal identity is just 
like the sameness predicated of any other aggregate thing. 
It is a conclusion grounded either on the resemblance in 
essential respects, or on the continuity of the phenomena 
compared. And it must not be taken to mean more than 
these grounds warrant, or treated as a sort of metaphysical 
or absolute Unity in which all differences are overwhelmed. 
The past and present selves compared are the same just 
so far as they are the same, and no farther. They are the 
same in kind. But this generic sameness coexists with 
generic differences just as real ; and if from the one point 
of view I am one self, from another I am quite as truly 
many. Similarly of the attribute of continuity: it gives 
to the self the unity of mere connectedness, or unbroken- 
ness, a perfectly definite phenomenal thing — but it gives 
not a jot or a tittle more. 

" But all this is said only of the Me, or Self as known. 
In the judgment 'I am the same,' etc., the 'I ' was taken 
broadly as the concrete person. Suppose, however, that 
we take it narrowly, as the Thinher, as Hhat to ivliich'' all 
the concrete determinations of the Me belong and are 
known: does there not then appear an absolute identity 
at different times ? That something which at every 
moment goes out and knowingly appropriates the Me of 
the past, and discards the non-me as foreign, is it not a 
permanent abiding principle of spiritual activity identical 
with itself wherever found ? 

"That it is such a principle is the reigning doctrine 
both of philosophy and common sense ; and yet reflection 
finds it difficult to justify the idea. If there tvere no pass- 
ing states of consciousness^ then indeed we might suppose 
an abiding principle, absolutely one with itself, to be the 
ceaseless thinker in each one of us. But if the states of 



170 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

consciousness be accorded as realities, no such 'substan- 
tial ' identity in the thinker need be supposed. Yester- 
day's and to-day's states of consciousness have no suhstantial 
identity, for when one is here the other is irrevocably dead 
and gone. But they have a functional identity; for both 
know the same objects, and so far as the by-gone me is 
one of those objects, they react upon it in an identical 
way, greeting it and calling it mine^ and opposing it to 
all the other things they know. This functional identity 
seems really the only sort of identity in the thinker which 
the facts require us to suppose. Successive thinkers, 
numerically distinct, but all aware of the same past in the 
same way, form an adequate vehicle for all the experience 
of personal unity and sameness which we actually have. 
And just such a train of successive thinkers is the stream 
of mental states (each with its complex object cognized 
and emotional and selective reaction, thereupon) which 
psychology treated as a natural science has to assume. 

"But luhy should each successive mental state appro- 
priate the same past Me ? I spoke a while ago of my own 
past experiences appearing to me with a 'warmth and 
intimacy ' which the experiences thought of by me as 
having occurred to other people lack. This leads us to 
the answer sought. My present Me is felt with warmth 
and intimacy. The heavy warm mass of my body is 
there; and the nucleus of the ' spiritual me,' the sense of 
intimate activity, is there. We cannot realize our pres- 
ent self without simultaneously feeling one or other of 
these two things. Any other object of thought which 
brings these two things with it into consciousness will be 
thought with a warmth and an intimacy like those which 
cling to the present me. 

" Any distant object which fulfils this condition will be 
thought with such warmth and intimacy. But which dis- 
tant objects do fulfil the condition, when represented ? 

"Obviously those, and only those, which fulfilled it 



THE SOUL AND PEESONAL IDENTITY 171 

when they were alive. Tlieyji we shall still represent 
with the animal warmth upon them; to them may possibly 
still cling the flavor of the inner activity taken in the act. 
And by a natural consequence we shall assimilate them 
to each other and to the warm and intimate self we now 
feel within us as we think, and separate them as a col- 
lection from whatever objects have not this mark, much 
as out of a herd of cattle let loose for the winter on some 
wide Western prairie the owner picks out and sorts 
together, when the round-up comes in the spring, all the 
beasts on which he finds his own particular brand. Well, 
just such objects are the past experiences which I now 
call mine. Other men's experiences, no matter how much 
I may know about them, never bear this vivid, this pecul- 
iar brand. This is why Peter, awakening in the same 
bed with Paul, and recalling what both had in mind 
before they went to sleep, reidentifies and appropriates 
the 'warm ' ideas as his, and is never tempted to confuse 
them with those cold and pale-appearing ones which he 
ascribes to Paul. , As well might he confound Paul's 
body, which he only sees, with his own body, which he 
sees but also feels. Each of us when he awakens says. 
Here's the same old Me again, just as he says, Here's the 
same old bed, the same old room, the same old world. 

" And similarly in our waking hours, though each pulse 
of consciousness dies away and is replaced by another, yet 
that other, among the things it knows, knows its own 
predecessor, and finding it 'warm,' in the way we have 
described, greets it, saying: 'Thou art mine^ and part of 
the same self with me.' Each later thought, knowing and 
including thus the thoughts that went before, is the final 
receptacle — and appropriating them is the final owner — of 
all that they contain and own. As Kant says, it is as if 
elastic balls were to have not only motion, but knowledge 
of it, and a first ball were to transmit both its motion 
and its consciousness to a second, which took both up 



172 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

into its consciousness and passed them to a third, until 
the last ball held all that the other balls had held, and 
realized it as its own. It is this trick which the nascent 
thought has of immediately taking up the expiring thought 
and 'adopting ' it, which leads to the appropriation of 
most of the remoter constituents of the self. Who owns 
the last self owns the self before the last; for what pos- 
sesses the possessor possesses the possessed. It is im- 
possible to discover any verifiable features in personal 
identity which this sketch does not contain, impossible to 
imagine how any transcendent principle of Unity (were 
such a principle there) could shape matters to any other 
result, or be known by any other fruit, than just this pro- 
duction of a stream of consciousness each successive part 
of which should know, and, knowing, hug to itself and 
adopt, all those that went before, — thus standing as the 
representative of an entire past stream with which it is in 
no wise to be identified." 
Conclusion. Such then is personal identity, and such is that unity 
we have to ascribe to our minds. Such is its thingness. 
The very fact that we do identify our present life with 
our life of yesterday, requires that there be some common 
standpoint from which the identification can be made. If 
the life of yesterday be utterly divorced from the life of 
to-day, how can the Self be more than what is now the 
content of consciousness? Clearly the very fact of a con- 
tinued life stretching over years, as does our own, consti- 
tutes that very unity, or personal identit}^ Avhicli we call 
the SQul. Our mental states, the life of the moment, be- 
long to this self. They are my states, it is my mental life; 
and that I, that continuous stream into which they fit, is 
the Soul. Clearly such a soul, such a unity in our con- 
sciousness, is no figment of our imagination. It is just as 
truly an element in our mental life as are the individual 
states themselves. As Lotze puts it : " It has been required 
of any theory which starts without presuppositions and 



THE SOUL AND PERSONAL IDENTITY 173 

from a basis of experience, that in the beginning it should 
speak only of sensations or ideas, without mentioning the 
soul to which, it is said, we hasten without justification 
to ascribe them. I should maintain, on the contrary, that 
such a mode of setting out involves a wilful departure 
■from that which is actually given in experience. A mere 
sensation without a subject is nowhere to be met with as 
a fact. It is impossible to speak of a bare movement with- 
out thinking of the mass whose movement it is ; and it is 
just as impossible to conceive a sensation existing with- 
out the accompanying idea of that which has it, or, rather, 
of that which feels it; for this also is included in the 
given fact of experience, that the relation of the feeling 
subject to its feeling, whatever its other characteristics 
may be, is in any case something different from the rela- 
tion of the moved element to its movement. It is thus, 
and thus only, that the sensation is a given fact; and we 
have no right to abstract from its relation to its subject 
because this relation is puzzling, and because we wish to 
obtain a starting-point which looks more convenient, but 
is utterly unwarranted by experience."^ 

It is in this sense, and only in this sense, we speak of 
ourselves and desire a continuation of our life beyond 
death. An immortality of a soul in a different sense, as 
we have already seen, would be for us no immortality at 
all. It is this unity, with its permanent characteristics, 
that makes up our personality. This unity is the Soul. 

1 Metaphysic, Vol. I, p. 169 f. 



CHAPTER XX 



A CRITIQUE OF PSYCHOLOGY 



Psychology- 
must in- 
clude a 
study of the 
physical 
manifesta- 
tion of the 
mind. 



Psychology 
likewise 
must em- 
ploy an 
atomism. 



We are now prepared to sum up, in the form of a cri- 
tique, the results of our reflective study of the mind. 
What first shall we say to the psychologist? His ulti- 
mate field is clearly a very limited one, for at bottom the 
only mind he can observe directly, and therefore study at 
first hand, is his own. Other minds, if known at all, 
can be known only through analogy with his own. But 
what is the basis of this analogy ? Clearly the outward, 
or physical, manifestation of that inner life he would, 
but cannot, directly observe. Ultimately, then, psychol- 
ogy must be a study of the physical manifestation, if we 
are to have a psychology that is more than a mere psy- 
chology of the individual psychologist himself. Psychol- 
ogy, then, must be a branch of biology, or at least, more 
generally speaking, a natural science. 

Yet, on the other hand, nothing could be more false 
than to make psychology only a natural science. It is, 
and must be, also a mental science. But how can the 
mind be studied? Ultimately the same principles that 
hold of the interpretation of the world hold also of our 
study of mind. It is true — true beyond any reasonable 
doubt — that our mental states are not mere compounds 
of parts, like oats in a bin or a heap of stones. Any part 
of the stream of consciousness, like the whole stream 
itself, is an organic unity. Just as the human body dis- 
sected is no longer the human body, so, also, our mental 
states analyzed into so-called simple states, or elementary 
states, are not the living, throbbing mental states of the 

174 



A CRITIQUE OF PSYCHOLOGY 175 

actual living mind. But not one whit the less, just this 
very analysis will have to be made. The very tenet we 
urged so emphatically concerning the world of nature, and 
to which natural science rightly holds so strongly, is the 
atomic theory. That atomic theory, we maintained, 
destroys the living, concrete, organic unity of nature. 
Your body and my body are not heaps of atoms literally. 
Yet we found that, to study the human body, or any other 
material object, means sooner or later to take it to pieces, 
to analyze it into "simple" elements. As a result we 
get abstractions, not concrete realities ; but these very 
abstractions are just what science needs. In short, ulti- 
mately the atomic theory holds of the mind as it does of 
nature. It may be indefinitely harder for science to apply 
it to the mind than it has been for science to apply it to 
the material world. Nevertheless the problem is there, 
whether we can solve it or not. That is, a complete 
study of mind demands the same final analysis of the 
mental stream as the complete study of matter demands of 
material objects. 

But right here we come upon a fundamental difference The physical 
between the mental world and nature. The mind is best ^^^^^ 1^ 
described as a stream and its atom as a point in that world of 
stream. But this stream is not absolutely continuous conserva- 
from the point of view of the world at large. Not only tion, and 
are there big gaps in it, such as the hours of sleep and the physical 
unconsciousness, but it is constantly being fed into from explanation 
without. We can give no account of the source of these tj^g ^asis for 
new elements except in mental terms. We have no other the purely 
account of them to give, but one worded in physical terms. 
What, then, is the consequence? The physical world is 
alone that world of complete conservation in which the 
story of events may be told as an eternal and continuous 
tale. If any explanation of mind is to be given that 
will fill in the blanks of the mental stream involved in 
sleep, in the indefinite ages before our birth, in the sources 



176 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

of our perceptions, and so on, we have to go back into 
the physical world for it. But more than, this, the story of 
mind demands, just as truly as does that of nature, com- 
plete continuity. Hence, ultimately, science must hold 
that its ideal explanation of mind would be physical. 
This does not mean that mind is to be identified with 
matter, any more than the secondary qualities Avere to be 
identified with the primary. It means, rather, that the 
mind is to be related to the physical, and its ultimate uni- 
formities to be expressed in terms of such relationship. 
The ideal psychology is a physiological psychology. Such a 
psychology would be able when complete to give a con- 
tinuous history of mind from the lowest life to the high- 
est. It would give likewise a continuous history and 
explanation of the individual mind. The gaps in our 
story of the actual succession of psychoses would be filled 
with events truly bearing upon the mind; and our mental 
states would be brought into full relationship with nature 
at large. 

But what is the full significance of this view? It 
means that our mental life must be interpreted ultimately 
in relation to the physical world and its purely quanti- 
tative laws and events, just as we found that the secondary 
qualities of the physical world itself must be. This does 
not mean the identification of mind and matter; but it 
does mean that the purely physical explanation of all 
events is the fundamental one to which the explanation of 
other elements and events has to be related. 

But, again, such an ideal of psychology leaves no room 
for a type of freedom of will quite contrary to the neces- 
sity, or complete uniformity, of physical events. This 
likewise in no way denies the existence of spontaneit3\ 
On the contrary, spontaneity is of all truths the one 
upon which our study of nature laid greatest emphasis. 
What it does mean is the complete obedience of all changes 
to the causal law. 



A CRITIQUE or PSYCHOLOGY 177 

The ideal psychology will then strive to approach a The ideal 
complete knowledge of the brain or other physical mechan- ^^[f^g^^^ 
ism that is the connecting link between mind and the rest piiysioiogi- 
of the body, or, better expressed, the ultimate mechanism phoiogv 
of mind. This mechanism, just like any other, will be 
interpreted in purely physical terms; that is, quantita- 
tively. Its origin, structure, and activities will be 
explained like those of any other organ of our body. 
Then, finally, the mental life will be explained by working 
out the laws of coexistence between it and its physical 
instrument. Of course this is an ideal, and, consummated, 
represents a stage of psychology vastly beyond any results 
thus far attained. Yet it represents something more than 
a dreamer's ideal. It represents what the psychologist and 
the physiologist should aim more and more to realize. It 
represents the truth so widely held among students of the 
mind to-day, that psychology cannot be divorced from 
nervous physiology, even though it be true that nervous 
physiology is mostly mere hypothesis and speculation. 



lem? 



III. ONTOLOGY 
CHAPTER XXI 

INTEODUCTORY 

Our new HAVING HOW dealt ill the course of our philosophizing 

deals with witli the problems that belong specifically to the two great 
reality as a classes of objects, the material world and mind, we must 
what^then^is ^^^^ ^^^'^^ our thoughts to problems that no longer belong 
this prob- particularly to a mere part of the world or universe, but to 
reality as a whole. Here, then, we commence our reflec- 
tive study of the world in its entirety. But often in 
science it is far harder to decide just what questions we 
are to ask than it is to discover the answer to them when 
once definitely formulated. Here we undertake a study 
of the world as a whole; and evidently the information 
we shall gain will be in answer to certain definite ques- 
tions that we must first put to reality. Psychology tells 
us that to seek, our minds must in some way be prepared 
for what they are to find; otherwise the unknown object 
sought for will not be discovered, but will be passed by 
unnoticed. Having eyes, we often fail to see. Why? 
Because we had no real eyes for just that truth or just 
that object. In deep meditation we fail to hear the re- 
marks others make to us, or we pass our friends by on the 
street and fail to return their greeting. In short, the 
world does not in most cases reveal its truths unsought 
for. First, we have to ask what we seek , then the chances 
are vastly greater that our question will be answered. 
To know beforehand what we want to hear will help us to 
hear it. This is what we do each time we listen to catch 
the tick of the clock. To attend to anything is, as it 

178 



INTRODUCTORY 179 

were, to put to it the question. What are you? But if we 
do not attend, if we do not ask, even though the answer 
be for a lifetime right within reach, it will never be ours. 
Hence we must ask ourselves what it is we wish to ask 
of reality as a whole; and this is no easy question to 
answer. 

We are accustomed to ask questions about almost any ob- it must raise 
ject that comes to our attention; and why may we not t^^^t*^°n\,e 
find out what these questions are, and turn them into asked of any 
questions about reality as a whole ? What are the ques- °^J*^*^** 
tions we might ask about almost anything we can imagine ? 
As we look out of our window, there yonder stands a 
house. What sort of questions might we ask about it in 
common with almost anything else ? We should not ask 
what is its color, for some things have no color. We 
should not ask who lives there, because such a question 
belongs only to a dwelling, not to trees and stones as well. 
We should not ask its dimensions, for some things do not 
have dimension. We should ask rather, (1) Of what stuff, 
or substance, is it made, or composed? for this we could 
ask of any existing thing; (2) we should inquire. What 
is its plan of construction, or what we might call its con- 
stitution or organization? This, too, we could ask of 
anything that can in any way be analyzed into parts. 
(3) Finally, we could ask. How did the house come to 
be? This, too, we could ask of anything that has ever 
come into existence or has in any way changed since it 
has come into existence. In short, wherever there is a 
change, we can ask for the conditions, agents, or manner 
of its occurrence ; for as far as we know everything under- 
goes change, that is, everything has come into its present 
order of existence out of some past different order, every- 
thing from the earth's inhabitants to the earth itself, from 
one solar system to the sidereal system of which it is a 
part. They all had a beginning. 

We have then three questions to ask. What is the 



180 



INTKODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This gives 
us at least 
three ques- 
tions : 



I. What is 
the sub- 
stance of 
the world? 
The mean- 
ing of the 
term " Sub- 
stance." 



stuff, substance, or essence? What is the constitution? 
What is the origin ? These questions are all fairly easy 
to understand if one does not ask us too critically just 
what we mean by them. However, the more carefully we 
try to answer them the more clearly shall we be able to 
give their exact import. So it will be sufficient for the 
present to give a brief statement of how we shall ask them 
of reality as a whole, and then proceed with our investiga- 
tion itself. 

1. What is the stvff, or substance, of ivhich tlie world is 
composed ? What do we mean by a stuff, or substance ? 
Take water. What is its substance ? Oxygen and hydro- 
gen. But what are they ? Two forms of matter that have 
such and such properties, or characteristics. But what is 
matter? Why, something that manifests itself as occu- 
pying space. But what is this something? Here we are 
caught. We have gone as far as we can. In short, when 
we are asked what is the stuff, or substance, of which a thing 
is composed, e.g. water, we understand that our inquirer 
wants to know under what general class of substance we 
include it. If he wants to know what is the substance of 
this substance, again we state some more general substance 
yet. And so on until finally we reach what? The most 
general forms of existence. Then if he wants to know 
anything further, the most seemingly that we can reply 
is to tell him in what ultimate ways this most general 
substance manifests itself. Now right here we have the 
definition for which we seek. A stuff, or substance, is 
something that has certain characteristics, or manifests 
itself thus and so. In short, when we tell of what 
material anything, e.g. water, is composed, did our in- 
quirer push us far enough, the answer would always run, 
"It is something that manifests itself thus and thus." 
Now, the something that does the manifesting is called 
substance, and its manifestations, or the ways in which it 
manifests itself, are its attributes. There is another 



INTRODUCTORY 181 

point for us to notice. Whenever we tell the material 
of which a thing is made, we have not given its ulti- 
mate substance until we are pushed back to the final form 
of answer. That is, ordinarily we do not give the ulti- 
mate substance of things ; for example, when we say that 
houses are made of wood, or that water is composed of 
hydrogen and oxygen. Now in philosoph}^, what is meant 
by substance is this ultimate something, not the interven- 
ing materials of which one can ask the very same question, 
What are they? Substance then is something ultimate, 
and, seemingly, we are limited to stating its attributes. 

Now we are ready to give the meaning of our first ques- Our ques- 
tion. What is the stuff, or substance, of reality? This tjo'^f^e^ 

, , , "^ rise to 

question is intended to ask, In how many ultimate ways, Ontology. 
does the substance of the world reveal itself, and ivhat are 
these ivays? These two problems together form the Onto- 
logical Problem ; that is, the problem of the essence of the 
world, or of its attributes.^ 

To state briefly the problems of ontology and the The Prob- 
answers they have received. The problems, as we see, Theodesof 
are two. The one deals with the number of attributes, Ontology, 
the other with the kinds of attributes that substance has. 
The former problem has been answered chiefly in two 
ways ; that is, the substance of the world has been said to 
have one attribute and has been said to have two attri- 
butes. These doctrines we shall name, respectively, Mon- 
ism and Dualism. According to the Dualist, the Avorld 
manifests itself ultimately as both material and spiritual ; 
whereas the Monist attempts to reduce one of these 

1 Now "the essence of a thing is tliat one of its properties which is so 
important for my interests that in comparison with it I may neglect the 
rest." Hence essence for ontology means those properties that are of 
importance when we deal with objects in their universal aspects. The 
two aspects that have been singled out by ontology are materiality, or 
extension, and immateriality, or spirituality. The student should not fail 
to read in this connection pp. 354-358 in James' Psychology (Briefer 
Course), or pp. 332-337 in Vol. II, of his Principles of Psychology. 



182 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



II. What is 
the constitu- 
tion of the 
world ? 



This ques- 
tion gives 
us the Cos- 
mological 
problem, or 
Cosmology. 



The Cosmo- 
logical Prob- 
lems and 
Theories. 



attributes to the other; that is, either extension to con- 
sciousness or consciousness to a form of extension. The 
latter monistic doctrine is Materialism; the former is 
called Spiritualism. Now, besides telling us the ultimate 
ways in which substance manifests itself, it belongs to 
ontology also to say what it can about substance as such ; 
namely, apart from its manifestations. What is substance 
as such? Thus our analysis of ontology gives us the 
following topics to discuss: Materialism^ Spiritualism, 
Dualism, and, finally, the Problem of Substance. 

2. But what is the meaning of the second philosophical 
problem, which asked. What is the constitution of the 
world? By the constitution of anything we mean the 
parts that make it up and their order ; in short, its struc- 
ture, or anatomy, and, secondly, the interaction of the 
parts — how they act the one upon the other and thereby 
fulfil the function of the whole structure, or, to carry out 
the figure of a living body, its physiology. Therefore by 
the problem of the constitution of the world or, as it is 
called, cosmology, we mean to inquire: first. Is the world 
composed of ultimate parts, or elements, or, what is the 
same question. Is there but one substance or is there 
a plurality of substances ? and, secondly, If the latter, 
what is the order obtaining among them ? and, next, What 
are the fundamental laws in accordance with which the 
activities or changes that constitute the world of events 
take place ? 

If our cosmological theory reply that there is but one 
substance, it is called Singularism or Pantheism. If it 
answer. There is a j)lurality of substances, it is called 
Pluralism; and, as pluralists, we should be called upon 
to determine the order, or relation, of the substances. In 
either case, however, we shall be asked about the great 
course of events that makes up the life, or process, of the 
world; and this problem we shall divide into three topics. 
First, why the world can be regarded as made up of 



INTRODUCTORY 183 

many individual things and their qualities; secondly, 
how in general these things act and react upon one another, 
or what is the principle of causation; and, thirdly, how 
mind and body in particular are causally related? 

3. Finally we have our third problem. What is the iii. What is 
origin of the world, and how has it come into its present !!!^w^\^*'^ 
order ? The answer to this problem is called Cosmogony, or Cos- 

We have now a bird's-eye view of the problems that lie ™°sony . 
before us when we come to study the world as a whole. 
The problems are three: we seek an Ontology, a Cos- 
mology, and a Cosmogony. We shall take up first the 
ontological theories ; and of these, first of all, the doctrine 
of Materialism. 



CHAPTER XXII 



MATERIALISM 



The Origin 
of Ontology 
and Materi- 
alism. 



The philosopher, as such, was seen by us to differ from 
other people chiefly in his mode of conceiving the ordi- 
nary things of everyday life. Each mind has its peculiar 
interests ; and in accord with those interests it analyzes 
any concrete object, finding there present some abstract 
element that is, at least for the moment, of supreme 
import. 

This same truth must be taken into consideration when 
we now ask : What was the origin of ontology, and why 
did men tend to solve its problems by a materialism rather 
than by some other theory? If we go back far enough 



1 Parallel Beading. 

The student should read in Paulsen's Introduction, Book I, Chapter I, 
pp. 53 to 86, a very interesting accoiint of Materialism. 

For the history, and for a more extensive study of jMaterialism, few 
would fail to recommend one book, F. A. Lange, Geschichte des Materi- 
alismus und Kritik seiner Bedeutung in der Gegenwart. 6th edition re- 
vised by H. Cohen. 1898, 2 vols. English translation by E. C. Thomas. 
London, 1878-1881. 

For literature on the materialistic side, the student is referred to 
Ludwig Biichner, Kraft und Stoff. 16th ed. Frankfort, 1888. (English 
translation. Force and Matter, by Collingwood. 4th ed. London, 1884.) 
Also to David Strauss, Der alte und der neue Glaube. Tiibingen, 1872 S. 
(English translation by M. Blind. London, 1873.) 

A shorter account of the history of Modern Materialism is to be found 
in Weber, History of Philosophy, Section 60 ; also Section 69. The 
student should read both these sections. 

The chief materialists of modern philosophy are Hobbes and Gassendi, 
in the seventeenth century ; Diderot, La Mettrie, Holbach, and Cabanis, 
in the eighteenth century, in France ; and Feuerbach, Wagner, Vogt, 
Moleschott, Biichner, and Czolbe, in the nineteenth century, in Germany. 

184 



MATERIALISM 185 

either in the history of civilization or in the develop- 
ment of each man's intelligence, we shall of course come 
to a stage where such an abstract problem as that of on- 
tology has not as yet made its first appearance. Yet, in 
spite of this fact, we should find even in these stages 
of thought a fairly clear, though crude, picture of things 
in general ; and this picture would include an unconscious 
answer to the ontological problem. But the ontological 
problem, as such, was not born till some genius struck 
upon a new way of conceiving things, and brought to 
man's mind a brand-new question, "Of what stuff is 
everything made ? " This seems a very simple question 
indeed; but its newness once upon a time made the man 
that asked it one of the world's greatest geniuses. Who 
was this genius ? The history of philosophy ascribes the 
question to an ancient philosopher of Ionian Greece, one 
Thales, who lived about 600 B.C. But, like the rest of 
us mortals, Thales lived in his own time, was a man of 
his time, owed most of what he knew and thought to his 
day and generation and to his surroundings. Both the 
question and its first answers belonged to their day, even -, 
though they were in advance of their day, as does every 
stroke of genius ; and their day, like every other day, was 
the child, and the natural child, of the days that went 
before it. 

Now the earliest ontological theories are materialistic ; Materialism 

and we may conclude that materialism is naturally the isaprimi- 

'' , . tive theory, 

first answer of man to the ontological problem, and this for 

one special reason, because the primitive way of looking at 

things is an incipient materialism. Such, in fact, we find 

it; and this not only in the mind of early civilization, but 

also in the untrained intellect of our own day. Indeed, 

we may say that almost all men of to-day are vaguely 

materialists to begin with, and get beyond materialism 

only as they are brought into contact with the ontological 

problem through a study of the thought of the world's 



186 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Psychology 
tells us the 
reason of 
this. The 
world with- 
out, the ma- 
terial world, 
is far more 
powerful in 
attracting 
our atten- 
tion. 



philosophic leaders. Nevertheless, as Paulsen says, and 
as we shall see later, this view of the world can be shown 
to be also a vague dualism. 

The psychology of the child, and in truth of the adult, 
shows how much easier it is for us all to attend to material 
objects about us than to our own thoughts. True it is 
that our thoughts are often intensely interesting, and the 
boy absorbed in the story-book is rather an example of the 
power of thought to draw our attention completely away 
from the material world about us. But this is not what 
we mean by attending to our thoughts. The content of 
our thought, the mental image, the story, may be intensely 
attractive even to the very young child; but it is the con- 
tent, namely, the mental image of material events that 
does the attracting. It is the picture, not the thoughts as 
mental events, that draws away the mind in the fascinat- 
ing story. Thus, after all, even here the interest is centred 
upon the world of material things just as much as though 
we were looking at ourselves or others in a mirror. Not 
the reflection as reflection, but the picture attracts us. 
So, too, in the mental picture, the content, in as far as it 
supplies a reproduction of exciting or interesting material 
scenes, draws our attention. But what could so remove, 
for most of us, every particle of interest from the tale 
as to require us to turn ourselves suddenly into intro- 
spective psychologists? Thoughts as thoughts, thoughts 
or any mental state aside from its content, are never easily 
apprehended or attended to by us. Thousands of things 
attract our attention rather than these. Hence it is that 
man's attention for ages was directed to the material 
world about him rather than to the mental states within 
him; and hence it is that the child, and in fact almost 
every one but the specializing introspective psychologist, 
attends almost entirely, if not altogether, to the world 
without. This is true even in our emotions, for they are 
roused chiefly by impressions from without or by thoughts 



MATERIALISM 187 

whose content is of the world without; and in our emo- 
tions the emotion itself never seriously drafts our atten- 
tion to itself as such. Thus it is that man is naturally- 
more impressed by the material world. It is to him the 
more real world. It is the world he pictures to himself 
most readily and knows best. The world of mind, as 
something totally different from the world of matter, does 
not interest him, attract his attention, or become ade- 
quately apperceived. 

However, this does not mean that the soul fails to be 
noticed by the primitive mind, for at even a low grade of 
civilization theories of the soul and its life are quite 
common. But these theories are nevertheless material- 
istic, even when a sharp distinction is made between mind 
and body. To quote from Professor Paulsen's Introduc- 
tion, the case stands about as follows : — 

" Common-sense takes note of the visible and tangible However, 
obiects around it, and gives the following- answer to the *^^ primi- 

*' _ . tive view IS 

question concerning the nature of reality as such: The rather a 
corporeal world is the real world. This view is not neces- Z^^^f 
sarily materialistic. Materialism is a product of scien- 
tific reflection. In addition to bodies, common-sense 
recognizes also a different reality, the soul. There is 
something in living bodies which is not body, at least 
not real body. No language perhaps exists that has not 
a word for what we call soul, and that does not attribute 
reality and essentiality to this soul. The origin of the 
idea of a soul as a separate existence is, perhaps, to be 
sought in the following facts. An important and strik- 
ing difference appears in bodies, the difference between 
living and lifeless bodies. The former possess voluntary 
movement, while the latter have not the power of motion ; 
they require an impact from without. The popular infer- 
ence is that the ground for this difference must lie in the 
fact that there is a something in the living body that 
wills and moves, is sensible and feels ; that is, the soul. 



188 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

" That this soul is a separate, independent essence, and 
not a mere force or quality, is inferred from another fact 
— one that exerts a profound influence on primitive 
thought: the phenomenon of death. At death, the liv- 
ing body loses the property 'which distinguishes it from 
lifeless bodies; it becomes insensible and motionless. 
How does this happen? What takes place in death? 
The body remains what it was a moment ago ; externally 
it is undiminished and unchanged, only it has lost its 
power of motion. The obvious conclusion, therefore, is 
that that which moves it, the soul, must have left it. 
Hence the soul must be incorporeal, else we could see it 
depart; and it is an independent being. Its separation 
from the flesh and its continued existence prove this. 
For the experience of all peoples agrees in the belief that 
the soul does not perish at death; it can again appear and 
act. Everywhere anthropology discovers ancestor- wor- 
ship, a sure sign of the belief in the existence and per- 
petuity of the departed soul. No one troubles himself 
about what does not exist. Moreover, the notion is also 
common to primitive stages of civilization that the soul 
contemporarily separates itself from the body even during 
life. The body lies motionless in sleep, but the soul is 
not inactive; it sees, hears, feels, and at times experi- 
ences wonderful things. It dreams, we say. Primitive 
thought, however, interprets the fact differently: the 
soul leaves the body in sleep and sets out on a journey 
of its own, hence it experiences those very things which 
we call dreams. 

"The primitive conception of the nature of the soul is 
about as follows: It is like the breath; it is visible, but 
not tangible, having the form of the body, like the real 
substantial shadoAv of the body. The connection between 
life and breath is evidently the reason why so many lan- 
guages designate the soul as a breath (j^vx^-> animus). It 
might be defined as a substantial image, or the existent 



MATERIALISM 189 

vision of tlie body without corporeality, impenetrability, 
and weight. Thus Homer describes the departed souls or 
spirits; so the mediceval painter portrays them; and the su- 
perstitious believer in ghosts imagines them in the same 
way. At the same time these spirits have power to haunt 
as well as recollection and feeling, though in a changed 
and weakened form. 

"If we wish to refer the ontological view of popular 
thought to a class, we shall have to call it Vague Dualism. 
Bodies constitute the real reality, but alongside of them 
there exists a reality of the second order, bodily beings 
without real corporeality, that are both active in the bodies 
as efficient forces, and also exist for themselves as departed 
spirits." 1 

We have here indeed the beginnings of a dualism, but 
none the less the conception of the soul is clearly material- 
istic. The soul is something that can be seen, even though 
of a breath -like or mist-like character. 

From all this mental proneness to be absorbed in the 
material world to the exclusion of the mental world, or 
proneness to materialize the soul in some form, we can 
readily understand that when science became far enough 
advanced to raise the ontological problem, the answer to 
that problem should have been materialistic ; we can under- 
stand why the ontological theory should have remained 
materialistic until there arose philosophers that called 
attention to the totally distinct character of mental states ; 
and also why men of scientific note, long after the distinc- 
tion has been made, still tend to fall back into a material- 
istic view of the world. In a previous chapter we have 
already sharply distinguished our mental states from mate- 
rial or spatial events ; and this distinction disproves 
materialism. Were it not then for the great part that ma- 
terialistic ontology has played in the history of science and 
for the great contributions materialistic philosophers have 
1 Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 53, 54. 



190 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Primitive 

materialism 
hylozoistic. 



Later, 
natural 
science 
made it 
purely 
mechanical ; 



and physi- 
ology 
seemed to 
identify the 
mind and 



made to human thought, we might pass on to other the- 
ories, neglecting materialism altogether. But on account 
of these considerations the theory deserves to be expounded. 

The primitive attempt to explain nature sought to 
account for the changes and events taking place about us 
in the same way as that in which it accounted for the activi- 
ties of the human body. Everything in nature is alive, is 
inhabited by a soul, just as is the human body. Modern 
materialism, on the other hand, rejects an animistic inter- 
pretation and reduces life to a purely mechanical process. 
The older form of materialism is called Hylozoism. Thus to 
the hylozoist the world is entirely material, but material in 
a cruder sense than that of the modern materialist ; for to 
the former matter as such is endowed with life. Hylozo- 
ism is, in short, the carrying over in thought to the whole 
of nature of what man finds going on in his own body. 
Nature is one great living material world. All things are 
alive. The processes of nature are the movements of a 
living mass. It was not till the days of Galileo that a 
strictly mechanical explanation of nature came to be formu- 
lated, and not till then did materialism quite shake off its 
hylozoistic character. 

Physical science at that time began to bring into being 
modern mechanics, and soon an almost new science, physi- 
ology, sought to explain the activities of the living body 
mechanically. In the eighteenth century modern chemis- 
try was to have its birth; and from it the old hylozoistic 
interpretations were to receive a final blow. The tendency 
of the natural scientists of the seventeenth, the eighteenth, 
and the nineteenth centuries was in the main materialistic ; 
and these centuries have transformed our picture of nature 
into that of the vast mechanical processes which we have 
already considered. 

As far as scientific tendencies expressed themselves in 
an open assertion of a materialistic ontology, they had to 
show that the mechanical-materialistic explanation they 



MATERIALISM 



191 



gave to nature could likewise be given to the mind. The 
problem was this : Cannot mental phenomena be explained 
as the activity of the brain, or the mere product of that 
activity ? Is not the brain the organ of mind in the same 
sense as the stomach is an organ of digestion, or the glands 
of secretion? 

Each new discovery in human physiology, and above all 
in neural physiology, seemed to be but one more proof that 
the belief in the soul and its non-corporeal existence and 
immortality were but superstitions. Experience seemed 
to indicate more and more that the psychical processes were 
purely neural. The mind depends upon the brain in every 
way. Its sensations depend upon the stimulus coming to 
the brain from the organs of sense. An injury to these 
organs means a diminution of consciousness, and a severe 
injury to the brain means a temporary extinction of all 
consciousness, while its dissolution, we have every reason 
to believe, means the permanent loss of consciousness. 

Finally, the doctrine of evolution by natural selection 
seemed to add even additional evidence. We are forced 
by the spirit of natural science to believe, and hence to 
search for verification of our belief, that life arose on our 
earth not through the coming into existence of elementary 
forces different from those previously existing on the globe, 
but through the action of those very forces themselves. 
The origin of life seems to be resolved into a pure problem 
of chemistry, and that again into one of physics. Like- 
wise, the origin of mind must have been brought about in 
the same way. It had as its conditions the formation of a 
more and more complex nervous system. Ample evidence 
leads the scientist to declare that the human nervous 
system is but the modified and enlarged nervous system 
of the lowest animal. The growth of mind then has been 
conditioned by the same forces as that of the body. The 
history of the two is quite parallel. " Reference is made 
to the facts of comparative anatomy. They disclose a 



brain- 
activity ; 



and finally 
the doctrine 
of evolution 
brought 
closer 
together 
than ever 
before the 
world of 
lifeless 
matter and 
the world 
of life and 
mind. 



192 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Criticism 
of Material- 
ism. 



All the 
evidence in 
favor of 
Materialism 
shows at the 
most only 
an intimate 
relationship 
between 
mind and 
body, not an 
identity. 



thoroughgoing parallelism between the development of 
the nervous system and soul-life. Brain and intelligence 
show a corresponding increase in their growth throughout 
the advancing stages of animal life. jNIan heads the animal 
kingdom in intelligence as well as in the size and internal 
development of his brain, especially of the cerebrum. The 
same parallelism occurs in the human race. The develop- 
ment of the brain and the civilization of the races run 
parallel." 

Why then ascribe to mind and body two different es- 
sences? The mind is to be treated and regarded as one 
with the physical world in which it lives. Its origin and 
its ultimate fate are locked together with the origin and 
fate of the body. The two are one. 

The data from which to criticise materialism ^ were enu- 
merated when we differentiated mental states from physical 
events. The sum total of the evidence furnished by mate- 
rialism amounts only to a theory of the relation between 
mind and body. That an absolute uniformity of coexist- 
ence obtains between the activities of our brain and our 
mental states, no one will deny. But a relation of unifor- 
mity is not one of identity. Here lies the whole battle. 
Are thoughts brain actions ? Are thoughts moving mole- 
cules ? If any man persists in maintaining that they are, 
we can ask him, Where are the facts? Did he ever see 
brain molecules move? "No." Did he ever observe his 

1 It has been thought by many that epistemology gives the true answer 
to materialism. To the present writer nothing seems more absurd. Even 
did we accept the Berkeleyan "Immaterialism," materialism need not 
feel contradicted. The problem of ontology is the question whether all 
existence as revealed to our minds is spatial, has extension. Berkeley, 
or any one else, has to admit that part of the world as revealed to us is 
extended. Now the question arises, Is all of it extended ? If so, then no 
matter what your epistemology, you are a materialist. No doubt most 
materialists have a very crude and anachronous epistemology, but an an- 
swer to their epistemology is not the destruction of their materialism. 
But compare the following chapter on Spiritualism, and also that on the 
Determination of the Given. 



MATERIALISM 193 

own thoughts ? " Yes." If the two are identical, then he 
must have seen both. He contradicts himself. If he per- 
sists, " Still they are identical ; " then there is but one 
answer we can give him, " Either you or we are talk- 
ing nonsense, therefore you and we had better stop 
-arguing." ^ 

We find here an ultimate truth about our knowl- 
edge that leads us into problems to be considered later. 
In our judgments we are forced back finally to the facts 
on which our arguments are based, and that is as far 
as we ever can get. If men differ about facts, their argu- 
ments are hopeless. The most we can do is to point 
directly to the facts involved, and ask our opponent 
whether he sees them. If he does not, it is time to stop 
talking and seek more profitable employment. Of course 
much tact and pedagogical skill are required in pointing 
out facts ; for, as our psychology teaches us, seeking a fact 
requires discrimination, and discrimination requires two 
things, proper mental preconceptions, and the proper stim- 
ulus from the object we are observing. But when we 
have done our utmost pedagogically, the rest must depend 
upon our opponent himself. If he cannot follow, all we 
can say is. One of us is right, one is wrong, and further 
discussion is useless. 

Such is finally the criticism of materialism. It is a ques- Mental 
tion of observing- facts. Are mental states and brain statesas 

. directly 

motions identical? Look and see. Direct observation, not observedare 
argument alone, can tell. Surely for most of us, there *^ctfrom" 
will be no trouble to determine whether they are identical brain-actiy- 
or not. The two seem worlds apart. By my thoughts, I 
mean my thoughts, and not gyrations of molecules. By 
anger, I do not mean the flush, the contracted brows, the 
clenched fist, the altered breathing. I mean what I feel. 
These are felt, it is true ; but they are not the anger. I 

^ Cf. quotation from Charles Mercler, "The Nervous System and the 
Mind," in Aikins's Principles of Logic, p. 208. 
o 



ity. 



194 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Strictly 
speaking, 
Materialism 
is in no way 
an answer 
to either 
religious or 
moral prob- 
lems. 



see this paper as I write on it, but the mental state called 
my perception of the paper is not the paper, nor is the 
paper it. If I close my eyes, the paper is there. I can feel 
it by touch, or somebody else can perceive it; but the 
vision has gone. My thought is no more a brain activity 
than it is the paper. 

Before closing our discussion of materialism, one topic 
more deserves passing mention, that is, the moral and 
religious tendency of materialism. ''Materialism actually 
tends to undermine our belief in God and in the universal 
validity of our moral judgments. We tend to think that 
in a world of atoms governed wholly by purely mechanical 
laws, there is no room and no rational need for God, nor 
any basis for morality other than the chance working of 
physical forces that have given rise to certain moral 
instincts and sentiments in our brains. /However, the 
problems here involved are so very different from those 
of ontology that we should postpone their consideration. 
None the less, two truths deserve mention. First, mate- 
rialism does, no doubt, require a revision of many old-time 
views about both God and morality. Secondly, materialism 
as such does not contradict theism or morality. If the 
world be material, why should God exist any the less? 
Why may not God be material ? The existence of God 
and duty on the one hand, and the materiality of the 
world on the other, are very different questions ; and if 
they are held distinct the materialist need not be forced 
to take issue against either morality or religion. On the 
other hand, some spiritualistic ontologies in no way con- 
tradict atheism.^ In short, the problem of theism is dis- 
tinct from the ontological problem. In some of its historic 
forms it has been a cosmological problem ; and in its 
strictly religious form it is even distinct from both ontol- 
ogy and cosmology. 

1 E.g. Schopenhauer's. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

SPIRITUALISM 1 

There are two ways in which philosophers have come There are 
to regard the essence of the world as spiritual, and hence ^? .^-^^ j^ °* 
to reject the doctrine of materialism and substitute for it ism. 
its direct opposite, Spiritualism. The first way is very 
radical. It is to find that the facts or events which make 
up the course of nature as well as of our mental life, are 
spiritual. This means that any fact which we can produce 
or to v/hich we can refer, is nothing but a mental state in 
some mind. There is no existence that is not mental. 
The other method proceeds quite differently. It argues 
by analogy, as follows : A mechanical explanation of the 

1 Historical Note. The theory that the world is in part or wholly 
spiritual first arose when modern philosophy had made a sharp distinc- 
tion between " thought" and matter, or extension. Before that time the 
substance forming the world's foundation was conceived of as material. 

It was Descartes that first made this clear separation of the two 
substances. As he had called the other the res extensa, or matter, he 
calls the latter the res cogitans, or spirit. These two are distinct in 
nature, have nothing in common, and finally are mutually independent, 
the one not being produced by the other. 

Though this distinction is first clearly and definitely brought out by 
Descartes, he none the less was not a spiritualist, but a dualist, and 
sometimes seems almost to verge on materialism pure and simple. The 
distinction was also made by Locke, but Locke sees no difficulty in 
regarding spirit as a form of matter. The first two great spiritualists are 
Berkeley and probably Leibniz. 

As the simplest and most common type of spiritualism we may take 
that of Berkeley. For Berkeley the student is referred to Selections from 
Berkeley, by A. C. Fraser, Oxford, Clarendon Press ; the editor's Histori- 
cal Introduction and Part I., Metaphysical Immaterialism. 

For the Histoiy cf . Fraser's Historical Note just referred to. 

195 



196 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



I. The 

Berkeleyan 
Spiritual- 
ism. 



(a) If the 

secondary 
qualities 
exist only iu 
perception 
or in our 
mind, the 
same truth 
must hold 
also of the 
primary 
qualities. 



changes or activities taking place throughout the whole 
realm of nature is quite impossible. Such an explanation is 
ultimately self-contradictory. Whereas, on the other hand, 
if we go directly to the facts or the changes themselves, 
and study them as they actually take place, we shall see 
that their way of coming into being is quite like the way 
in which our mental states come into being. In short, the 
course of nature with its countless changes is entirely 
analogous to the stream of consciousness in our own 
mental life. Being entirely analogous, we must suppose 
the two identical in essence, and that means spiritual. 
Nature as well as mind is spiritual. 

Let us consider the former type of spiritualism first. Its 
father and chief representative was the great Irish philoso- 
pher, Bishop George Berkeley, who lived from 1685 to 
1753. Spiritualistic arguments of the Berkeleyan type are 
threefold. 

The first argument for spiritualism in opposition to 
materialism is based upon a criticism of that doctrine. It 
tries to show that materialism itself in its usual form has 
already done part of this work of criticism, which when 
completely done, means the rejection of materialism itself. 
As far back even as Democritus we find that certain 
qualities of things, the secondary qualities, are believed to 
have no existence except in the mind of the individual 
perceiving them. In the same way when we come to the 
Cartesian philosophy, we find the doctrine that matter has 
as its only true characteristics, extension and movability, 
and that the qualities that give richness to the manifesta- 
tions of the material world, — color, sound, heat and cold, 
softness, hardness, and so on, — are but mental states, and are 
not true qualities of matter at all. Now Berkeley saw that the 
argument against the objective existence of the secondary 
qualities was really based on no ultimate or fundamental 
difference between the two classes of qualities, and that 
therefore materialism would fare ill, if we commenced to 



SPIRITUALISM 197 

question the objectivity of the primary qualities also ; for 
of course it presupposes their reality. The most that can 
be said in favor of the primary qualities is that they are 
always present; whereas the secondary qualities undergo 
changes, that is, come into existence and go out of existence. 
But the truth that these primary qualities are persistent, 
does not warrant us in drawing the conclusion that they 
exist apart from our perceptions. In this respect they are 
no different from the secondary qualities. If the secondary 
qualities exist only in perception, there is nothing to 
warrant our drawing a different conclusion concerning 
primary qualities. 

But more than this, and here is the second argument for (b) The 
spiritualism : What sort of a world is it that the material- ^ateriaHs^^ 
ist describes as his objective world ? Can we picture any and their so- 
such world containing nothing but primary qualities ? No. matter are 
Such a world, as we have seen, is a mere abstraction, and mere 
therefore cannot be imagined. To imagine an abstraction tions, not 

we should be obliared absolutely to io-nore every other concrete 

1111 T^ realities. 

quality than that connoted by the abstract term. But such 

an empty picture is impossible. A bare extension without 
color cannot be pictured by the mind any more than a line 
without breadth or thickness. But if these abstract 
ideas represent reality, then reality is something that our 
minds are utterly unable to picture or imagine, and we are 
led into the absurdity that we know a world that can in no 
way be imagined. Therefore, the argument contends, the 
whole structure of materialism consists of nothing but the 
vague abstractions of scientific definition, and does not 
represent anything that can be pictured in thought or 
justified by reason. Though materialists are ready enough 
to look upon our spiritualistic theory as a contradiction of 
common sense, they contradict it themselves. In our daily 
life we mean by the world just what is revealed to us in con- 
sciousness, not some vain abstractions that do not admit 
of a conceivable intuition. The chasm that the material- 



198 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(c) All 
objects of 
knowledge 
are objects 
of percep- 
tion, and 
ultimately 
we cannot 
distinguish 
between the 
percept and 
its content. 
The world is 
the per- 
ceived 
world, its 
esse is 
percipi. 



ist is trying to make between the primary and secondary 
qualities is never seriously made in daily life. For in 
daily life the heat and cold, the sound and the colors, 
belong to the object as truly as their length, breadth, and 
thickness, their parts and their motions. 

Yet after all, it is Berkeley's third argument that repre- 
sents his position and the position of this type of spiritual- 
ist most truly. It maintains that the world as really 
revealed to us, as apprehended by us, is made up of per- 
ceptions or mental states. This argument is stated so 
clearly by Berkeley that we shall give it in his own 
words. 

" It is evident to any one who takes a survey of the 
objects of human knowledge, that they are either ideas 
actually imprinted on the senses ; or else such as are 
perceived by attending to the passions and operations of 
the mind ; or lastly, ideas formed by help of memory and 
imagination — either compounding, dividing, or barely 
representing those originally perceived in the aforesaid 
ways. By sight I have the ideas of light and colours, with 
their several degrees and variations. By touch I perceive 
hard and soft, heat and cold, motion and resistance, and 
of all these more and less either as to quantity or degree. 
Smelling furnishes me with odours ; the palate with 
tastes ; and hearing conveys sounds to the mind in all 
their variety of tone and composition. And as several of 
these are observed to accompany each other, they come 
to be marked by one name, and so to be reputed as one 
THING. Thus, for example, a certain colour, taste, smell, 
figure, and consistence having been observed to go together, 
are accounted one distinct thing, signified by the name 
apple ; other collections of ideas constitute a stone, a tree, 
a book, and the like sensible things — which as they are 
pleasing or disagreeable excite the passions of love, hatred, 
joy, grief, and so forth. 

" But, besides all that endless variety of ideas or objects 



SPIRITUALISM 199 

of knowledge, there is likewise something which knows or 
perceives them ; and exercises divers operations, as will- 
ing, imagining, remembering, about them. This perceiv- 
ing, active being is what I call mind, spirit, soul, or 
MYSELF. By Avhich words I do not denote any one of my 
ideas, but a thing entirely distinct from them, wherein they 
exist, or, which is the same thing, whereby they are perceived 
— for the existence of an idea consists in being perceived. 

" That neither our thoughts, nor passions, nor ideas 
formed by the imagination, exist without the mind, is 
what everybody will allow. And to me it is no less evident 
that the various sensations, or ideas imprinted on the 
sense^ however blended or combined together (that is, 
whatever objects they compose), cannot exist otherv/ise 
than in a mind perceiving them — I think an intuitive 
knowledge may be obtained of this by any one that shall 
attend to what is meant hy the term exist when applied to 
sensible things. The table I write on I say exists, that is, 
I see and feel it ; and if I were out of my study I should 
say it existed — meaning thereby that if I was in my study 
I might perceive it, or that some other spirit actually does 
perceive it. There was an odour, that is, it was smelt; 
there was a sound, that is, it was heard ; a colour or figure, 
and it was perceived by sight or touch. This is all that I 
can understand by these and the like expressions. For as 
to what is said of the absolute existence of unthinking 
things without any relation to their being perceived, that 
is to me perfectly unintelligible. Their esse is percipi., nor 
is it possible they should have any existence out of the 
minds or thinking things which perceive them. 

" It is indeed an opinion strangel}^ prevailing amongst 
men, that houses, mountains, rivers, and in a word all 
sensible objects, have an existence, natural or real, distinct 
from their being perceived by the understanding. But, 
with how great an assurance and acquiescence soever this 
principle may be entertained in the world, yet whoever 



200 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

shall find in his heart to call it in question ma}', if I mis- 
take not, perceive it to involve a manifest contradiction. 
For, what are the fore-mentioned objects but the things 
we perceive by sense? and what do we perceive besides 
our own ideas or sensations ? and is it not plainly repug- 
nant that any one of these, or any combination of them, 
should exist unperceived? 

" From what has been said it is evident there is not any 
other Substance than spirit, or that which perceives. But, 
for the fuller demonstration of this point, let it be con- 
sidered the sensible qualities are colour, figure, motion, 
smell, taste, etc., i.e. the ideas perceived by sense. Now, 
for an idea to exist in an unperceiving thing is a manifest 
contradiction; for to have an idea is all one as to perceive ; 
that therefore wherein colour, figure, etc., exist must per- 
ceive them ; hence it is clear there can be no unthinking 
substance or substratum of those ideas.' 

" But, say j^ou, though the ideas themselves do not exist 
without the mind, yet there may be things like them, 
whereof they are copies or resemblances, which things 
exist without the mind in an unthinking substance. I an- 
swer, an idea can be like nothing but an idea ; a colour or 
figure can be like nothing but another colour or figure. If 
we look but never so little into our own thoughts, we shall 
find it impossible for us to conceive a likeness except only 
between our ideas. Again, I ask whether those supposed 
originals or external things, of which our ideas are the pic- 
tures or representations, be themselves perceivable or no ? 
If they are, then they are ideas and we have gained our 
point ; but if you say they are not, I appeal to any one 
whether it be sense to assert a colour is like something 
which is invisible ; hard or soft, like something which is 
intangible ; and so of the rest." ^ 

Berkeley's argument then is the following : If we know 
the world we know it as an object of our perception. If 
^ Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge (Fraser). Sections 1-4, 7-8. 



SPIRITUALISM 201 

it be an object of our perception, it is given to our minds, Summary of 

and so is known by us, only as the content of our percep- argument^ 

tion, never as something not contained in our perception. 

If we declare that the objects which we perceive have an 

existence apart from our perception, what can we mean? 

Do we mean that objects exist that cannot be perceived? 

Are we then to hold that there are two distinct things, 

our perceptions and these things without our minds ? If 

so, are they alike or different? If they are alike, we must 

hold that the objects about us outside of our perception 

have color and sound, and heat and cold. But in spite of 

all this they are not perceived. But what a ridiculous 

statement it is that there are colored objects that are not 

perceived, or objects that are not felt, that there are noises 

that are not heard. Therefore, if things and qualities in 

this objective world be like our perceptions, they must be 

perceptions, and can exist nowhere but in some mind. 

Therefore, when we say that the world exists, we mean 

that some mind is perceiving. 

According to Berkeley's cosmolog}^, the mind that always 
does this perceiving is the divine mind. The divine mind 
perceives the world in its fulness and completeness, and 
causes finite minds, or spirits, also to perceive certain por- 
tions of it. The law and order of nature are ultimately 
then the law and order of God's perceptions and the law 
and order of the perceptions that God causes to exist in 
us. But the material world does not exist except as the 
content of perception. There is then no such thing as 
matter apart from mind. There is simply spirit and those 
manifestations of spirit which we to-day would call states 
of consciousness. 

But what are we to say to this ontological theory? Criticism of 
First of all, that what Berkeley tells us is a truism, when wan^spSt. 
he says that you and I get our knowledge of the world uaiism. 
through our perceptions. Of course, if we did not have 
minds, we could not see and hear and feel ; and if we 



202 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This part of 
Berkeley's 
doctrine is a 
truism. 



Berkeley 
does not 
answer the 
ontological 
problem as 
such. 



did not see, hear, and feel, we could not know anything 
about the world. We should be like the stones in the 
street. We grant this. Who could be so insane as not 
to grant it ? y 

But, and here comes the rub, have Berkeley and the 
Berkeleyans really answered our question? The onto- 
logical problem was this : What are the ultimate char- 
acteristics of the world ; what is its essence ? We did 
not ask, How is the world known ? We asked. What is 
the world as known to us ? Surely the world as known 
to us is in part at least a material world. Let us grant, 
for the sake of argument, that the world exists only as 
perceptions in the mind of each of us. Then our question 
would run. What is it that you Berkeleyans perceive ? 
You reply. We perceive our perceptions. But what an 
absurd answer. If we ask a man what he sees yonder in 
the street, and he replies, " I see what I see," how are we 
any the better off because of his most truthful informa- 
tion ? The materialist may then continue to maintain, 
the world you perceive is in truth the world you perceive ; 
but when you commence to describe it any farther, vou 
will find it a material world ; and that is all I mean. / 

Hence we may conclude that when Berkeley's doctrine 
is appealed to, in order to settle the question of whether 
our minds are material or not, his doctrine is wholly irrele- 
vant and misleading.! The ontological problem, in short, 
falls without, a long way without, the limits of Berkeley's 
doctrine. It asks. What is the world that, you and I know 
and perceive? Surely when we describe this world we 

1 This argument is purposely confined to one question, that is, Whether 
or not the empirical world is material or spiritual or both. It is intended 
in no way to be a criticism of Berkeley's doctrine either in its epistemo- 
logical contributions or in its assertion of a transcendent world made up 
of God and the finite spirits. These two sides of his teaching will be con- 
sidered in later chapters, that is, at least in their main outline, and will 
there be rejected. To me his great contribution was his doctrine of 
abstract ideas and of substance. 



SPIEITUALISM 203 

find it made up of stars and planets, sky and clouds, trees 
and rocks, plants and animals, oceans and continents. 
Now, ontology asks, What are the ultimate attributes of 
these things ? Are they all material or spatial ? Have 
they all extension or bulk ? Are all their activities forms 
of motion ? And those things called minds are they mate- 
rial ? Have they breadth and thickness ? Or are they 
quite distinct from material things ? Can we, in short, 
break down the distinction between the mental and the 
physical, and identify the two ? Our earlier discussion 
showed that we cannot. Then monism has not been 
proved. 

But before attempting to establish dualism, we must ii. The 
consider the remaining form of spiritualism, the second ^'^'"°°**„ 
one we mentioned at the beginning of our chapter. Spiritual- 

Nature from end to end is a scene of spontaneous The world 
change. Turn wherever we will, we find everywhere is ever the 
that the new is coming into existence and the old is pass- continuous 
ing aAvay. Here I hold in my hand a match. I rub it and 

. , , p 11, 1 r" spontaneous 

against some rough surface, and what was before a mere change, or 
little stick with a brown bulging end is now a bright activity. 
flame rapidly devouring the wood. What a transforma- 
tion! Something that once was has gone forever out of 
existence. Something quite different has taken its place. 
Where did the old go? Whence came the new? The 
chemist and physicist might reply: Nothing went out of 
existence, nothing came into existence; the chemical 
elements that formed match and air have simply com- 
bined in new ways in the ashes and in the gas escaping 
as the match burned. They are right, of course, in their 
chemistry ; but we have long ago found that the chemist 
deals with certain abstract characteristics in each thing, 
and that he neglects thousands of other characteristics 
which just as truly enter into the total existence of the 
object. The match was not merely carbon, sulphur, and . 
other chemical elements. It was also that which I saw 



204 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

and touched. But now what I saw and touched is no 
more. Many qualities have gone, and others have taken 
their place. 

Again, here is an egg. We know from the examina- 
tion of other eggs just about what we should find if we 
opened it. There would be the yellow yolk swimming 
in the so-called white of the egg. Let us put it back 
into the nest, let the heat of the mother's body warm it 
for a certain number of days, and a little chick pecks its 
way out of the shell. Where are the old constituents of 
the egg we first placed in the nest, — the yellow yolk and 
the whitish semi-fluid in which it swam? They are gone 
forever. In their place is something of wonderful struc- 
ture, of beautiful color, of most complex parts, to the 
study of whose anatomy months could well be devoted. 
And this same chick, by devouring yellow bits of corn, 
by breathing the air, by walking about, pecking away 
and sleeping away the hours, becomes the full-grown 
fowl. What a wonderful thing has taken the place of 
the egg and of the corn ! But hold! says the chemist. 
There is not one atom in that fowl that was not in exist- 
ence long before the egg was hatched, long before it was 
laid; yes, ages ago. True, Mr. Chemist; but still there 
is something new about it all. There may be no new 
chemical atoms ; but we did not put a chick into the 
nest when we put back the egg. Our senses bear wit- 
ness to a marvellous substitution having taken place. 
No sane man can deny it. An egg is not a chick, nor 
is a grain of corn a feather. The two are altogether 
different. 

Whence the fire ? whence the chick ? Their chemistry 
is more or less clear, and we know what to do next time 
to get others like them. But still, whence this abso- 
lutely new feature of reality — the chick ? Where is the 
egg that is no longer? We know much about it, true ; 
but the one thing about which we know nothing is this 



SPIRITUALISM 205 

whence and whither. All we can say is, The old has 

gone forever; the new has taken its place. 

At this point the spiritualist steps forward and chal- This 

lenges the materialist to enter the fray. What have orp°e?-°^'*^' 

you, as a materialist, to say to this wonderful birth of a petuai 

new reality? Your chemistry and your physics fail to the new is 

explain, fail to account for it, fail, in fact, to say any- a" element 

thing whatever about it. True, if you ask us whether that cannot 

we can give any explanation either, we cannot. But ^® 

-, t . . . . accounted 

still we can do this, we can maintain most justly that for by 

no materialistic mechanics will ever explain it ; and over P^y*^^^^ ^^ 

■■^ any 

and above that we can point out to you another world empirical 
in which something quite analogous is constantly taking ^^keTaii 
place, — and that world is the mental life of each one of the world 
us. Thus we spiritualists can show you materialists that analogous 
when we look for an analogy by which to describe reality *° '^^^ 

mental 

as a whole, that analogy is given us right in our own stream, in 
mental life. Our very stream of consciousness is iust l^^^' ^* 

•^ _ ■' forces 

such a passing away of the old and spontaneous arising us to call 
of the new. One thought, one feeling, gives place to L^r^uai. 
another. The stream is perpetually changing. From 
moment to moment it is never the same. " Now we are 
seeing, now hearing; now reasoning, now willing; now 
recollecting, now expecting; now loving, now hating ; 
and in a hundred other ways we know our minds to be 
alternately engaged." We are changing, also, from 
month to month, from year to year; our whole outlook 
on life is different. " AVhat was unreal has grown real, 
and what was exciting is insipid. The friends we used 
to care the world for are shrunken to shadows ; the 
women once so divine, the stars, the woods, and the 
waters, how now so dull and common I the young girls 
that brought an aura of infinity, at present hardly distin- 
guishable existences ; the pictures so empty ; and as for 
books, what was there to find so mysteriously significant 
in Goethe, or in John Mill so full of weight? Instead 



206 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

of all this, more zestf ul than ever is the work, the work ; 
and fuller and deeper the import of common duties and of 
common goods." Such is our mental life, and such, too, 
is nature in which we live. To-day star-dust; to- 
morrow a solar system. To-day a glowing planet ; to- 
morrow an earth, covered with oceans and continents, 
mountains and valleys, plains and rivers. To-day the 
snow falling, the birds gone, the trees standing naked; 
to-morrow the spring sunshine, the birds returning with 
song and nesting, the trees and the grass turning green, 
the field and the garden once more blossoming forth. 

Mind and nature are not two worlds, as you material- 
ists rightly maintain ; but you make a mistake in taking 
the cold abstract truths of physics as the world's chief 
characteristics. The real world is the world of change, 
ever the old giving place to the new. It is a world of 
spontaneity. It is a world like our minds. Yes, we 
must see in them its true analogy. Like them, it is 
spiritual. "Matter" is but an abstraction exaggerated 
into a reality. The real is the spiritual. 

But, reader, it is high time for us to let the material- 
ist in his cold, matter-of-fact way, "first," "secondly," 
" thirdly, " and so on, throw back some defiance at our 
spiritualistic friend. 

First : materialism in no way denies or says anything 
whatsoever about spontaneous change. Of course eggs de- 
velop into birds. What if they do ? Are not eggs material^ 
and are not birds also material? 

Secondly, you may be right. Nature may be quite 
analogous in its perpetual changes to our mental life; 
but, again, what has that to do with the question 
whether all things are material, have extension, or not? 
That is our question. Is mental life a form of motion ? 
You say, "No"; we say, "Yes." Has nature, in all 
its forms, length, breadth, and thickness? We say, 
"Yes." Do you dare deny it such attributes? 



SPIRITUALISM 207 

Thirdly, all materialism asserts is that reality in all 
its different forms is spatial; and we mean by spatial, 
has length, breadth, and thickness. What infinite other 
characteristics it may have is not our concern. About 
that materialism says neither yes nor no. Whether all 
reality is spatial or not, is the whole issue. No doubt 
what you have said brings up a very important problem, 
but materialism as such you have not answered. 

Thus we may conclude : This type of spiritualism em- 
phasizes a truth, namely, that nature is full of spon- 
taneous changes. Thus spiritualism gives us a new 
problem — the problem of change, which we must dis- 
cuss in a later chapter. But it does not solve the onto- 
logical problem as we have limited that problem ; it does 
not break down the distinction between mind and matter. 
Hence spiritualism fails to answer materialism. The 
world is material, but not all of it is material. Some 
of it is spiritual. And so we must turn for a true theory 
to dualism. 



CHAPTER XXIV 



DUALISM 



Neither 
Monistic 
Theory is 
right. The 
distinction 
between 
mind and 
body cannot 
be broken 
down. 

Thus we get 
Dualism. 



Such is the conclusion of the battle between the two 
monistic theories : much that both have said is true ; but 
the materialist talks nonsense when he tells us that our 
mental states are forms of brain motion; and much that 
the spiritualist tells us is irrelevant. There is a funda- 

^ Parallel Reading. 

Read section 18 in Kiilpe's Introduction to Philosophy (translated by 
W. B. Pillsbury and E. B. Titchener), London and New York, 1897. For 
the term Dualism, cf. Baldwin's Dictionary. 

Historical Note. 

"Descartes is the founder of modern dualism and the typical exponent 
of dualism in modern philosophy. He makes the conceptual distinction 
of corpus and mens fundamental for metaphysics. The ' corporeal ' is 
universally characterized by extension, the ' mental ' by thought. Hence 
there are two substances : a res extensa and a res cogitans, which exist 
independently, but stand in reciprocal relation to each other." (Kiilpe.) 

Other Dualists (in the time immediately following Descartes) are the 
Occasionalists, who try to reconcile the existence of the two kinds of 
substance with the interaction of mind and body. (Cf. section 54 in 
Weber's History.) Among the Occasionalists note especially the names 
Geulincx and Malebranche. In England, John Locke was a dualist. 

On Descartes, cf. "Weber's History, section 53, and for a much longer 
account, Kuno Fischer's valuable volume, Descartes und seine Schule, the 
first volume of his Geschichte der neuern Philosophic, 4th edition, 1897. 
(English translation by J. P. Gordy, New York, 1887.) 

Since the seventeenth century the tendency in philosophy has been 
toward a monism, but more toward a singularism. "We believe that 
dualism is consistent with the doctrine of one substance back of both 
mind and body. If this be granted us, the later tendency in philosophy 
•toward a so-called monism (we should say singularism) need not be 
interpreted as an opposition to such dualism as this book teaches. 
Tills later tendency is in opposition to Descartes' dualism, with its two 
distinct substances. 

208 



DUALISM 209 

mental distinction between nature and mind; and this 
fundamental distinction is, that the one is revealed to us 
as spatial and the other is not. Our mental states exist 
in time, have duration; the objects of nature all have 
length, breadth, and thickness, as well as duration. 

Our study of the philosophy of nature and of the phi- 
losophy of mind should have shown to us the fundamental 
character of this distinction. In interpreting them we 
cannot deal with one as we deal with the other. Nature 
we can interpret as a process of continuous, unbroken 
change. Change after change throughout infinite time 
is in accordance with strict mechanical laws, and the 
amount of mass and motion is always the same. Nature, 
because of her spatial attributes, offers an entirely differ- 
ent problem to science from that of mind. There can be 
no such thing as a psychology in the sense that there is a 
mechanics. The only way in which mechanics can be 
brought into relation with mind, is through the uni- 
formity of coexistence between activities in the cortex 
of our brain and our mental states. This coordinates 
mental states with mechanical processes, but it does not 
discover in mental states any mechanical attributes. 

The two are, then, fundamentally distinct. The one 
universe contains two types of existence, — matter and 
mind. It is twofold in its essence; and the two at- 
tributes, extension and thought, express this double 
essence. 

There is ample evidence that a sharp distinction between mind and body 
is made by most thinkers to-day. Hence, thougli monism is a term widely 
used, we may look upon most philosophers to-day as dualists in ontology. 

As is evident from this note, these terms vary in meaning, and the 
variety of meanings of the terms spiritualism and idealism (as a type 
of spiritualism) is a source of further confusion. To us the recent 
spiritualism (especially of Kantian and Hegelian writers) seems to be 
rather a purely epistemological doctrine, such as will be maintained later 
in this book, and it is in no way an answer to the strictly outological 
problem. 



CHAPTER XXV 



THE PROBLEM OF SUBSTANCE^ 



Substance 
is not a 
remainder 
left after 
the 

abstraction 
of qualities, 
for there 
would be no 
remainder. 



So much for the way in which the substance of the 
world manifests itself. Now what is the substance, in 
and for itself? Take any material object: this paper, 
for example. Rob it of all its qualities. What have 

1 The purpose of this chapter is merely to raise a problem and to 
lead the reader's thought from ontology to cosmology. 

Historical Note. 

The modern doctrine of substance (as opposed to the scholastic) begins 
■with Locke. The moment English Empiricism, with its view that all 
knowledge comes from experience, begins to ask just what is revealed to 
our senses in any given thing, the doctrine of substance is revolutionized. 
The moment it is asked whether substance is revealed to our senses, 
whether it is manifested to us in any way apart from its qualities, it 
becomes clear that the older view of substance as an entity in which the 
qualities inhere, has to give place to another. Substance is manifested 
to us through its modification ; but in itself, qua substance, it is not 
manifested. It is then an " I know not what " lying behind its manifesta- 
tions. Thus Locke. If we ask what hydrogen or anything is, the answer 
we always seem to get is, " Something that manifests itself thus and so " ; 
but what this something is, qua something, that is, apart from its mani- 
festations, we are utterly unable to say. (Cf. Locke, Essay Concerning 
Human Understanding, Book II, Chapter XXIII.) 

Berkeley goes a step farther and denies outright the existence of this 
unknowable something, this mere abstraction, matter or material substance. 
Eor him, inconsistently, spirit alone is substance. (Cf. in Eraser's Selec- 
tions, Berkeley's Principles of Human Knowledge, Sections 1 to 33.) 

Hume sets this inconsistency aside, and rejects wholly the old idea of 
substance. (Cf. Hume, Treatise on Human Nature, Book I, Part IV, 
Sections 3, 4, and 5. These three sections are so important that if the 
student have time, he should not fail to read them thoroughly.) 

For a general survey of this movement let him consult the 34th section 
in Windelband's History, through page 474. 

210 



THE PROBLEM OF SUBSTANCE 211 

you left ? Substance, the substance in which these qual- 
ities inhere, the substance to which they belong. But 
what is this substance ? Do you see it ? No, you cannot ; 
it has no color. Do you feel it through touch? No, it 
has no resistance or impenetrability, for these are quali- 
ties. How, then, do you get any evidence of its existence ? 
To do anything would be to manifest one of its proper- 
ties ; and all these we have taken away. What, then, is 
left? Precisely nothing at all. Substance is not some- 
thing over and above its manifestations. If it were it 
could in no way be distinguished by us from a sheer non- 
entity ; for to be so distinguished it would have to have 
qualities or manifest its existence in some way to our 
perception. 

Are we, then, to conclude that substance is nothing at Yet the term 
all, or must we conclude that we ordinarily have a wrong glance" 
idea as to what substance is ? The latter is undoubtedly must refer 
the correct answer. We are not talking about nothing 
at all when we speak of substance, for something in the 
objects about us makes us talk of their substance. So, 
too, when we talk of the ultimate substance of the world, 
our thoughts are not wholly wrong; for there must be 
something of the sort in reality, else this notion would 
not be held. 

Though substance is not to be regarded as an entity Substance is 
over and above, or back of, the qualities, or as an entity *^an<^n<' 
that can be thought of existing divorced from its qualties, element of 
still it is something quite distinct from them. It is that quamfes, or 
which remains permanent when the qualities change, whatever 
Substance is that which never changes, but is eternally predicate of 
the same. But substance is more than the changeless, tilings, form 
A substance must have an independent existence ; m the changing 

element. 
With Kant we come to the problem practically in its final form. For 
the term "substance" and its history and use, including writers in the 
nineteenth century, the student should consult : Eisler, Philosophisches 
Worterbuch, "Substanz"; or Baldwin's Dictionary, "Substance." 



212 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Hence 

whatever 
claims to be 
a substance 
must show 
itself to 
retain amid 
all its 
changes an 
eternal 
identity 
with itself, 
or thing- 
hood. 



language of scholasticism, Descartes, and Spinoza, it is 
"that which exists in and for itself, and depends upon 
naught else for its existence." Complete independence of 
all else and an endless unchanged existence, these belong 
to the substance in which all qualities and changing 
states inhere. 

But a moment's reflection before we proceed farther. 
What do we mean by "complete independence of all 
else " ? Can we mean aught but just what is said in the 
other phrase? What better proof of complete indepen- 
dence could we have than to remain from eternity to 
eternity the same, and this amid the countless changes 
that make up the course of the world's existence? Of 
course we might have our substance so divorced from 
other things that its changes would in no way be due 
to their interference. It might lead a life unto itself 
apart from all else.^ But to be substance it would have 
to be changeless here likewise. Thus, in either case, to 
be eternally the same would mark it substance. Sub- 
stance is the changeless. Quality is that which changes. 
But we have still to show what part of objects is change- 
less. Their qualities change, and by definition their sub- 
stance does not. What, then, is their substance? 

This question we cannot immediately answer, but we 
can say at once in what direction we must go in search 
for our answer. In a previous chapter we have learned 
that objects are called things because, among other rea- 
sons, they have a certain unit}^ of structure and stability 
of character. Now, just these characteristics of thinghood 
show a close similarity between what we denote by the 
term and Avhat we denote by the term "substance." 
Hence we shall do well to ask again, What is meant 
by the word "thing"? and to tr}^ to learn Avhat things 
among all others claim to be truly substantial, or at 

^ The impossibility of such an independent life will be shown later. lu 
such a case we should have not one world, but many worlds. 



THE PROBLEM OF SUBSTANCE 213 

least seem to have a right so to do. This information 
will doubtless point the way to the solution of our pres- 
ent problem. 

The world about us in our childhood soon becomes But this 
ordered into a world of things; and the world that leads us to 

° ' ask again, 

science pictures to us in our maturer days is not less, What are 
nay, it is even more, a world made up ultimately of in- *^^"S'^ 
dividual things. There is a great difference, it is true, 
between the things of popular life and the things of 
science ; yet the principles upon which they are declared 
things are one and all the same. 

As we look about us, what are things and what are 
not? The trees, the houses, the stones, the curtains, the 
chairs, the carpet — these are things ; but should we call 
the bark on the tree a thing? Hardly. Should we call 
the paint or a part of one of the chimney bricks on yon- 
der house a thing? Hardly. But then a whole chimney 
brick, or a whole shingle, separated in thought from the 
house we should not hesitate a moment to call a thing. 
The chair is a thing, but is one of its arms a thing? 
Yes and no. Separated in thought from the chair, by 
all means it is a thing; yet as part of the chair it lacks 
the individuality so characteristic of whatever strikes us 
as a thing. In short, it is just this individuality that Things 
marks off this or that as a thing. The particles that f^f^yijiuai. 
make up this piece of sandstone I should hardly call ity. 
things. Their individuality seems lost in the combina- 
tion of particles into the larger whole of the stone. 

Now right here another question. Why do some ob- Things 
jects thus in so arbitrary a way stand out as things, ^^"^^ 
whereas others, perhaps their parts, lack this thingness, 
at least for the time being? Individuality, as we have 
seen, is one element of this thingness, but is it all? No 
indeed. The smoke as it passes upward from a cigar is 
hardly so much a thing as is the cigar, or the steam ris- 
ing from the kettle as is the kettle. The waves of the sea 



214 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

are hardly so truly things as is the great sea itself. The 
shadows running along the mountain-side, ever changing 
their outline, are not so markedly things as is the old 
mountain itself. The clouds as they drift along the sky 
are not things to the same degree of thingness as the 
moon coming out between them. The flames dancing 
up and down upon the red-hot coals seem hardly so much 
true things as the coals. 

But why this difference? Clearly the old, the endur- 
ing, the slowly changing deserves the nobility of thing- 
hood more than the ever changing, fleeting object of a 
minute's life. To be rightly counted a thing, the object 
must have individuality, and must seem to us more than 
a passing shadow. We can take a boulder and split it 
with a hammer. Its parts then seem to us as truly things 
as the perfect boulder. They have individuality now. 

But where does the process of manufacturing things by 
the wholesale end? If we pound our rock to the finest 
dust, the minute particles seem to lack the same right 
to thinghood that the larger pieces possessed. Clearly 
they have now lost their individuality. They no longer 
stand out and assert each his own separate self as deserving 
our notice. The pieces have become a mere heap. Now 
much such a process of analysis has been pursued by 
science. She is ever dissecting the compound into its 
elements ; and what is more, she tends to give to these 
elements a right to be called things even above the 
parent compound. But science is here looking at the 
other aspect of thinghood, and cares more for permanence 
and changelessness than for visible separateness. It is 
true that the atoms into which the chemist resolves the 
piece of stone by his continued analysis seem to our limited 
vision to have lost the individuality that the stone itself 
possessed. Still, to those atoms we ascribe an existence 
of ages and ages. They are more permanent than the 
everlasting hills. They defy every attempt to destroy them. 



THE PROBLEM OF SUBSTANCE 215 

Because of this, the right of thinghood belongs to Thus we get 
chemical atoms in a sense higher and truer than to the oTobi&rtT^ 
objects of everyday life, with their more noticeable indi- that form 
viduality. Atoms have individuality, if our senses could cM^^ntTof 
but perceive it; but, after all, permanence or uniformity thinghood, 
of existence is greater than mere individuality, and in aud souls. 
the judgment of reason it gives a prior right to thing- 
hood. Atoms are preeminently things. But why stop 
here? The uniformity of existence that chemical atoms 
now boast may any day be taken from them and ascribed 
to more primitive atoms. Thus, when it comes to the 
last analysis the only ultimate and absolutely true thing 
would be an atom that is absolutely changeless and 
eternal. 

Besides atoms there are other claimants to ultimate 
thinghood: souls. Our mental life, amid all its count- 
less changes from hour to hour, and year to year, has an 
individuality and a uniformity of character that make it 
likewise one life and the manifestation of one thiiig — 
the soul. True, the soul's prenatal existence and future 
life are hidden from us ; but for those believing in its eter- 
nity, this fact presents no serious difficulty. However, 
think as we will about that, during its threescore and ten 
years here on earth, it has the marks of true thinghood. 

Thus in the world to which science introduces us there 
are two great classes of things, — the atoms of the mate- 
rial world and the souls of the spiritual world. These 
two classes of things claim to be substances ; but whether in short, 

they are or not, we must leave for cosmologfy to determine, science 
in T • • 1 • 1 T <• seems to be 

All explanations in this world oi ours must come ever trying 

finally to permanent uniformities of existence. As we t^i^^^^u^ 

pass on from the chemical atom to the atom of a higher is truly 

and higher abstraction, we are approaching more and ^Vd tMs^^ ' 

more toward those ultimate conditions of the material leads us to 

world that we suppose to be eternal. Cosmology, it is following 

true, may find that atoms do not conform to the strict chapters 



216 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



whether the 
things of 
science can 
stand the 
test of 
substantial- 
ity. 

And further, 
to ask 

whether our 
dualism 
presupposes 
a plurality 
of sub- 
stances. 



requirements of substantiality. But whether they do or 
not, the belief in them lies on the path by which we 
pass, in thought, from the everyday world, with its 
many changes, nearer and nearer to a form of existence 
that is changeless, or substantial. Titus, siibstance is 
that ultimate, eternal, unchanging element in our world 
toivard which science, in her atomic theory, keeps pushing. 
How many such substances there can be in the world, — 
whether the distinction between mind and matter necessi- 
tates the belief in more than one ultimate substance, — 
we shall see in our next section, on Cosmology. 



IV. COSMOLOGY 
CHAPTER XXVI 

INTRODUCTORY ^ 

We have now discovered the essential ways in which Our new 
reality manifests itself, and how we must regard the ^^'^ ^™' 
substance or substances involved in such manifestations. 
This was the ontological problem. A new problem at 
once awaits us. How is this world, whose essence we 
have studied, constituted? Is it a world of an indefinite 
number of absolutely independent things or substances? 
Or must we deny this and assert the ultimate unity of 
its substance ? And again, whether there be an ultimate 
plurality or not, how are we to explain the organization 
of the cosmos ? Let us first view the facts that give us 
our problem. 

" To popular opinion the world appears as a plurality The facts 
of independent objects, each of which has an existence ourproWem. 
independent of all the rest. True, they are not all i- ^ii 
totally indifferent to each other; they stand in relation undergo 
to, and act upon, each other. Nevertheless, this relation ciiange and 

,, . . . -, . PIT interact in 

or interaction is unnecessary to the existence oi each ele- spite of 
ment as such. then 

seeming 

"If we look at the matter a little more closely, we shall inde- 
discover a few further facts that are worthy of notice. ^^^ ^^'^^' 
In the first place, things act and are acted upon, not 
occasionally, but constantly and universally.^'' 

We stand watching the waves break on the seashore. 
How like an individual living thing each is as it rolls 
nearer and nearer. On and on they come, each trying 

^ A considerable portion of this chapter is taken from my Syllabus of 
an Introduction to Philosophy. New York, 1899. 

217 



218 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

to overtake the one before it. How independently each 
seems to act, even though it repeats so nearly the doings 
of its predecessors. Finally, as each grov/s higher and 
higher, the top begins to curl; it turns, and then in a 
mad dash ends its life, a little sea of dancing, boiling, 
struggling foam rushing up the beach's slope. How 
short was that life, yet seemingly how free and how care- 
less of all else! 

But a moment's thought soon reveals to us how decep- 
tive its seeming independence was. It was driven on by 
forces from behind and beneath. The wind had set the 
topmost water of the sea into motion, and little by little 
with gathered force the water had itself added to the 
wind's work. As the waves approached the beach the 
resistance of the sloping shore altered their shape and 
motion till their onward course and gravitation led them 
to destruction. How far, then, from independent has been 
their short career! The wind, the waters pushing from 
behind, the resistance of the beach, and the attraction of 
the earth have all played their part. But are even these 
all that has determined the waves' course? The shape of 
the beach, the looseness or hardness of its structure, must 
have played some part. Then, too, how great a part has 
been played by the tide ! Here the waves are high up on 
the shore, whereas but a few hours ago they were break- 
ing many yards below. But what made the tide ? The 
moon and the sun. What made the wind and gave it its 
direction and velocity ? Ultimately, the sun and the earth. 
Likewise, what determined the character of the shore? 
Geology tells of forces as widespread in their influence 
as our whole solar system. But why do we stop here ? 
Have yonder fixed stars naught to do in the affairs of our 
solar world? The law of gravitation, the laws of light 
and heat, must hold of them as of all else. No doubt, 
then, their attraction, their light, and their heat have 
played a part, no matter how small the part may be. 



INTRODUCTORY 219 

But how mucli more there was in the wave than its 
onward rush to destruction ! We might have taken pains 
to learn its temperature, and liow tliis came from the sur- 
rounding air and water. But wlience did they get it? 
Again we are led to the forces that produce the heat of 
'our atmosphere at given times and places ; and how mani- 
fold are these forces! Then, too, we might have in- 
quired concerning the changing colors of the wave as it 
moved on and on. These were due not only to its own 
molecular structure, but also, above all, to the daylight 
and the source of that daylight. Moreover, if it be true 
that water is in itself colorless, and that its seeming 
color is due to the fine particles held in suspension 
within, we should be led on to ask the source of this 
color-giving dust. The ocean bottom, the deposit carried 
into it by the feeding rivers, the eroded shores and cliffs, 
the meteors, the meteoric dust, where should we not go 
to find its sources ? 

In short, we are here simply brought face to face, as we This 
should have been had we chosen any other example, with interaction 
the indefinitely widespread interaction of all the elements among 
of the visible universe. Further anal3^sis of parts and throughout 
new discoveries of science but keep adding to the uni- all space, 
versality and the intimacy of this world-wide interaction throuo-hout 
of thing with thing. all time. 

But what is true of our known world in its expanse in 
space, is likewise true of it in its course through time. The 
wave breaking on the shore was determined by the wave of 
the moment before. The wind was caused by forces acting 
days before, and these again by still other forces reaching 
back into the infinite past. Could we, and did we, trace 
its history, we should be led into the past geologic ages, and 
even to the formation of our solar system. But this, in 
turn, would be no more a stopping-place than the point at 
which we started. Likewise, did we look into the future, 
the effects of the wave will last on into the centuries. 



220 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The same 
general 
truth holds 
of the 
mental 
world. 



to eternity. But what is here true of the wave would 
in the same way be true of anything else whose history 
we might strive to build up. Thus, as the elements 
of the world were found to be interrelated everywhere 
throughout the realms of space, so, likewise, are they 
now found to be through the endless course of time ; and 
thus, when we realize that the relations extend through 
both space and time, they seem truly universal.^ 

What is true of the physical world is no less true of 
the mental world, and all that belongs to it. Men's 
minds are influenced by their surroundings. The great- 
est of geniuses is as truly a child of his day as the 
humblest intellect. If we study his great thoughts, his 
discoveries, his inventions, we never find that all is new. 
At the most only a slight change has been made in what 
the men that went before handed on. to him. The his- 
torical continuity, where we have the data to work it out, 
is ever complete. To take a man out of his surround- 
ings, historical, geographical, racial, would be to fail 
utterly to understand him. 

But why delay at this point? Does not evolutionary 
psychology find in our mind the same product of the ages 
past that biology finds in the structure of our body? 
We are what we are mentally partly because of what 
our ancestors were millions of years ago, and they, in 
turn, were the offspring of remoter ages. The forces 
within and without, the environment and the nervous 
structure, played their part in each generation ; and now 
the result is the effect of their countless contributions. 
So we might proceed to show how societies and nations, 

1 It might be urged that what happens here at this instant is not affected 
by what happens in the sun at the very same instant, for some lapse of 
time would be necessary to transfer the effect from place to place. But 
the moment we add time to space, then what now happens in one place is 
in relationship to what happens elsewhere ; for their causes in the indefinite 
past and their effects in the indefinite future have ample time to act and 
react, no one knows how many times. 



INTRODUCTORY 221 

governments and wars, science and art, and all that 
makes up the larger life of man, are ultimately related 
to the cosmic forces taking part in the origin and de- 
velopment of our whole solar and sidereal system. Thus 
a few moments' thought must radically change the popu- 
lar opinion that the world is " a plurality of independent 
objects, each of which has an existence independent of all 
the rest." 

However, further thought may lead us back again ii. Yet on 
toward a plurality of such independent objects. The reign ^and\here 
of universal law, and the harmony of action whereby is a true 
each thing plays it definite role in an eternal and uni- ity to things, 
versal drama — these seem to be beyond dispute, and ^^^ ^^ ^^^ 

(i.6t)6Il(l6IlC6 

therefore something that every cosmological theory must 
take into account. Still, on the other hand, the course 
of science has been to seek ultimate independent entities 
— entities, it is true, that conform to universal law and 
cosmical order, yet entities that are independent, self- 
existing, eternal, and unchanging. 

But further, each one of these entities contributes its 
part in the combined result. A giv^n blow dealt a billiard 
ball results in an event quite different from what would 
have followed had the ball been made of putty. A wax 
figure reacts very differently to its surroundings from a 
living man. In short, the individual character plays a 
part, no matter whether we choose examples from the 
world of life or from that of dead matter. Therefore any 
theory of the world that ignores the individual or denies 
its existence is blind to countless facts of everyday life. 

Thus the world is not merely a macrocosm ; it is also 
a system of microcosms. The solar system leads a life 
at least of semi-independence. It had its origin; it has 
gone through a long course of gradual development to its 
present structure. The same thing is true of our earth 
and of the races of animals and plants that inhabit it, 
and is true, even to a greater extent, of our chemical 



222 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

atoms, though it ^vouhI be wrong to say that they have 

existed from eternity and are to remain existing for all 

time to come. But even though we find in all these cases 

the twofold process of origin and disintegration, still we 

shall not stop seeking farther and farther for microcosms 

that are eternal. In short, we come to the question; 

What is the significance of the fact that science searches 

for such eternal microcosms as well as for universal lav/ 

and order? If we emphasize the former, we tend toward 

pluralism; if the latter, we tend toward singularism. But 

the fact that both tendencies exist in science makes us 

believe that each has a right to be, and that some means 

of reconciliation can be found. 

These two However, in actual explanations of the world, one group 

view lead to ^^ philosophers has assumed as a starting-point the uni- 

opposing versal law and order, the other, the individuality of the 

Pluralism atom for which science searches. The former has had to 

apd . explain the possibility of the individual, the latter the 

possibility of a cosmos made up of individuals. Let us 

turn to a brief epitome of the resulting theories,^ their 

history, and the cause* giving rise to them.^ 

(a) Plural- Pluralism emphasizes the individual and the part played 

**"^' by the individual in the constitution of the world. Though 

not denying the unity of the universe, pluralists explain 

it as a unity made up of individuals. 

Its many We Can naturally ask two questions concerning these 

varieties individuals: first, their ontology; secondly, their cos- 

1 Parallel Reading. 

For the next three chapters the student can find no better parallel reading 
(though somewhat difficult) than the admirable discussion of Lotze in the 
3d, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th chapters of the First Book of his Metaphysics. 
For very interesting and shorter reading covering many points of Cosmology 
and Cosmogony, the student is especially referred to Paulsen, Introduction, 
Book I, Chapter II. 

2 This sketch presupposes on the part of the reader a geheral knowledge 
of the history of philosophy. The beginner will do well to omit it and 
pass at once to the next chapter. 



INTRODUCTORY 223 

mology proper, or the relation among them that makes 
up the order or constitution of the world. The indi- 
viduals may be thought of as material; we then speak of 
them as atoms. They may be thought of as spiritual; 
we then speak of them as spirits, souls, or, sometimes, 
monads. They may be thought of as material, and yet 
living and feeling, a doctrine called Hylozoism. Again, 
we may think of two kinds of individuals, — atoms and 
spirits. Then, of course, we are dualists. Finally, one 
theory regards matter as divisible ad infinitum. In this 
case atomism is rejected, and matter is looked upon as a 
kind of continuous fluid that can hardly be regarded as 
one or as many. This was the view of Descartes. 

But pluralism has a still further question to answer: 
Is the sum total of existence these atoms or spirits alone, 
or is there in addition to the system that these make up, 
a creator, God? In the former case the unity of the 
universe is only in the order of the atoms ; in the latter 
case we have in addition some highest atom, or spirit, or 
world-ground that orders and rules the world of atoms 
or spirits. The former system is sometimes spoken of 
as atheism, just as singularism is spoken of as panthe- 
ism. The latter system is referred to as theism. Much 
objection, however, can be raised against this termi- 
nology, which is religious in its meaning rather than 
metaphysical. Much singularism claims to be theis- 
tic; much theism of the type mentioned above may 
be, religiously speaking, atheistic.^ Such is a brief list 
of the many forms that pluralism has taken; and it 
naturally leads us to ask how so many and so various 
doctrines have arisen. 



1 We should do better to call the one system singularism, remembering 
that it is generally called pantheism. The other two systems we can refer 
to as pluralism, remembering the difference between the two, and that the 
one is often referred to as atheism, the other as theism, and that these 
distinctions do not necessarily correspond to those made by religion. 



224 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The origin 
of Plural- 
ism. 
It was a 
theory to 
explain 
change. 
Pluralism 
among 
the Greeks. 



Pluralism arose to explain the processes or changes of 
nature. The Eleatics had denied all change ; Heraclitu.s 
had said all was change. Neither hypothesis was satis- 
factory, for both seemed to leave something unexplained 
that needed explanation. The Eleatics got rid of this 
need by denying that there is any change to be ex- 
plained; Heraclitus, by saying that change is ultimate 
and, therefore, its own explanation. 

Empedocles, Anaxagoras, Leucippus, and Democritus 
take the happy mean. Agreeing with the Eleatics that 
"Being" is permanent, they none the less acknowledged, 
with Heraclitus, the reality of change. Therefore they 
did not, like Parmenides and Heraclitus, deny the need 
of an explanation. They thought that if the existing, 
or Being, is permanent, then change cannot be a modi- 
fication of "Being." "Being" must be made up of indi- 
vidual "Beings," and change must be an alteration of 
the relations between these individual "Beings," but not 
an alteration of the " Beings " themselves. Thus by the 
invention of the pluralistic hypothesis the successors of 
Heraclitus and the Eleatics are enabled to give an ex- 
planation of changes that they can neither deny nor 
accept as ultimate. 

In the metaphysics of Plato and Aristotle we have a 
sort of dualism ; — in Plato, in the distinction between 
matter and the idea; in Aristotle, in the distinction 
between form and matter. Both men, however, are 
pluralists. In Plato we have the T67ro<i vorjTiKO'i peopled 
with an endless number of ideas. In the doctrine of 
Aristotle we are told that matter taking on the forms 
becomes a world of individual things. In Plato the 
world is subordinate to, or ruled by, one supreme Idea, 
the good. In Aristotle, there is one supreme Form, 
pure activity that is never material. This is God, the 
prime mover of the universe. Thus both are theistic 
pluralists. 



INTRODUCTORY 225 

We have so far (i.e. up to the death of Aristotle), in 
the history of philosophy, representatives of the atheistic 
and theistic types of pluralism. We may take Democri- 
tus and, later, Lucretius as the typical atheists ; Aristotle 
as the typical theist. 

■ The great theistic system of Greek philosophy is that Theistic 
of Aristotle.^ But when Christianity came into contact ^s^ntstory. 
with Greek thought and found itself obliged not only to 
formulate the doctrines of the church, but also to con- 
struct apologetically a philosophy founded upon them, 
and meeting the intellectual needs of the times, there 
resulted finally, in the teachings of St. Augustine, 
another great theistic system. His cosmology is dif- 
ferent from that of Aristotle, and contains great original 
contributions to human thought. These two types of 
theism — that of Aristotle and that of St. Augustine — 
have continued to exist ever since in Europe, and in the 
Christian church. In the Aristotelian scholasticism, 
and especially in the system of St. Thomas Aquinas, we 
have the former type. In the Augustinianism of the 
Jansenists and the Protestant Reformers we have theism 
of the latter type. Both systems were ever in danger of 
passing over into pantheism; and Spinoza's doctrine of 
substance is doubtless the logical outcome of Aristotle's. 

The history of pantheism, on the other hand, belongs 
especially to modern philosophy. Pantheism is the result 
of the natural philosophy of the Renascence, and again, as 
just said, of the working out of the Aristotelian doctrine 
of substance to its full conclusion in Spinoza. In the 
Post-Kantian writers we have once more a strong panthe- 
istic tendency. 

To pass from this brief statement about the history of its point 
the two doctrines : What is the fundamental difference '^ti^goT ^^ 

^ Parallel Reading : Cf . Weber's History of Philosophy, on Aristotle, 
St. Augustine, Berkeley, and Leibniz ; Windelband's History of Philoso- 
phy, Sections 20, 27, and 29. 
Q 



226 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



religious, as 
opposed to 
that of 
pantheism, 
which 
is purely 
intellectual. 



The solution 
of the 



in their point of view? It is the difference between the 
intellectual and the ethico-religious interpretation of the 
universe. 

In the intellectual interpretation of the universe the 
chief motive is to find a ground of the universe that 
explains its origin, its nature, and its processes. The 
intellect in no way cares what this ground is, as long as 
it serves the purpose of explanation, nor how rudely this 
explanation may dash to pieces the hopes and longings 
expressed in the moral and religious life of the time. In 
what is called the individual it sees a stumbling-block 
that it must try to explain away, rather than a principle 
that it must make the basis of its explanation. What is 
sought is an explanation of the universe as a unity. The 
world explained as a unity is the ideal of reason, and the 
very essence of rational interpretation. The individual 
and change must be conceived of in harmony with this 
unity and explained by means of it. 

The ethical and religious interpretation, on the other 
hand, is strongly individualistic. Man, interpreted as a 
moral being, must be regarded as an individual, free and 
responsible for his conduct. From the religious stand- 
point, the ground of the world must possess personality. 
The moral and relisfious nature maintains that man's 
special relations to this ground (responsibility, depen- 
dence, and redemption) can exist only in case the latter be 
a spiritual personality. 

For pantheism the individual is but a mode, or modi- 
fication, of the creator. It has no independent existence, 
for its nature and doings "follow necessaril}^ " out of the 
essence of the ground of all things. But then, so the the- 
ist urges against the pantheist, human conduct is as non- 
moral as the beating of waves on the seashore or any 
other process in nature. 

How is the conflict between these two theories to be 
removed? We have in this controversy two fundamental 



INTRODUCTOEY 227 

interests. Each of these interests has a right to interpret conflict 
reality from its own standpoint and in accordance with ^^^^^^ 
its own principles. In fact, the two are entirely different; 
their problems are not the same, and when carefully dis- 
tinguished should never come into conflict, because their 
fields do not overlap. It is true, this leads to at least a 
twofold interpretation of the universe. But as we shall 
see, it appears to be the highest and best decision of our 
century that for the finite mind the two interpretations 
cannot be unified. In short, the distinction between the 
intellect and the ethico-religious consciousness is for the 
finite mind ultimate. 

We may then conclude that the explanation of the 
world as a unity, of its processes as following necessarily 
out of the vv'orld-ground, and of the individual as but a 
modification of that world-ground, is the ideal for the 
intellect in its interpretation of reality. The moral con- 
sciousness, on the other hand, demands an individual 
morally responsible and a world-ground whose character 
it can interpret by such words as good, perfect, and to 
which it can ascribe, however paradoxical, both person- 
ality and infinity. But it belongs, not to cosmology, but 
to the philosophy of religion to remove the apparent con- 
tradiction between these two views of the world. 

The controversy between atheistic pluralism ^ and pan- Atheistic 

theism is one with that between pluralism and sing^u- ^^"''a^^^*^- 

. ^ Its opposi- 

larism. Atheism, as a form of pluralism, is, strictly tion to 
speaking, in conflict only with the contrary theory — ^^^^' 
theism. Atheism argues, we have no evidence of the 
existence of any word-transcending ground. It finds in 
theism an inconsistent pantheism, which presupposes the 
very doctrine at issue and then tries to explain the world, 
not rationally, but teleologically, in the light of this 
assumption. It maintains, in short, that theism inter- 
prets the world in a way inspired not by man's intellect, 
^ Parallel reading : Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 158-180. 



228 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

but by his moral and religious desires. It presupposes 
that the world was made to suit the desires and wishes 
of man, or that man is the end of creation. Pantheism 
it can understand and treat seriously; theism it regards 
as a remnant of mythology unworthy of scientific recog- 
nition. 

Atheism, like pantheism, is doubtless right in feeling 
that the theist has had other than purely intellectual 
motives. However, if atheism be naturalistic, or deny 
the right of any other interpretation of reality than one 
in terms of science, the controversy is no longer between 
atheism and theism, ^ but between naturalism and the 
doctrine that the universe is not susceptible of interpre- 
tation on any single principle. 
The theist's Theism has demanded an explanation of the order, 
tfieoioev ^^^ perfection, and the presence of final causes that it 
claims to discover throughout the world. It sees in the 
results of human intelligence and volition events of 
the same character as (though less perfect than) those 
found in the great processes of the world. Having in 
what man produces an example of what mind has 
wrought, it argues by analogy to a mind infinitely 
powerful, wise, and perfect, as the only possible ex- 
planation of the world. It sees in any other theory the 
implication that the marvellous adaptations and organ- 
isms we find in nature are the result of blind chance, an 
absurdity equal to saying that stone quarries of them- 
selves change into cathedrals and iron mines into locomo- 
tives and steamships. 

The atheist, on the other hand, refuses to find in the 
processes of nature anything analogous to the purposive 
activities of man. In the first place, man changes one 
form of force or matter into others. He does not create. 
In the second place, the so-called ends of nature that 
serve as the material for the theist's argument are over- 
1 Cf. Chapter XLVIII. 



mTRODUCTORY 229 

weighed by an indefinite mass of facts incapable of any 
such interpretation. 

Rain and calamity come to the just and the unjust. 
Misery and misfortune are the lot of all alike. Instead 
of the higher animal organisms being created after a plan, 
they are but the outcome of a ruthless struggle for exist- 
ence, marked by the suffering and extinction of millions 
upon millions of the unfit. Further, the fittest that sur- 
vive are not necessarily the morally or intellectually high- 
est. From this standpoint they are often degenerate. 
Then, too, evolution is but one-half the story. Dissolu- 
tion is the other half. Nature's processes go up and 
down, and there is no evidence that they do not go down 
just as far as they ever come up. The earth, its races, 
its nations, will all grow old and pass away into the 
chaos whence they arose, and what has been gained by 
their having existed ? Can the theist point to any evi- 
dence justifying us in saying a purpose has thereby been 
fulfilled? He cannot. There is, then, in nature nothing 
whose scientific interpretation demands the supposition of 
an infinite intelligence. 

All we have are the great processes of nature. All 
that we need presuppose to interpret these processes are 
substances with their laws of movement or of change. 
These all are ultimate, and are therefore to be assumed 
just as the theist assumes his God. In fact, if we grant 
that the fewer assumptions a theory makes the better, 
then our theory is preferable to theism because it does 
not assume as much. We simply assert that what is, has 
always been, and that what we now see to be nature and 
its processes, has always existed. These processes are ulti- 
mate, and though they may be described, they need no 
explanation. When we have described them, metaphysics 
has fulfilled its mission. 

Atheism is generally materialistic, but is not neces- 
sarily either materialistic or atomistic. It could just as 



230 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Material- 
istic 

Pluralism. 
Its History. 



well be spiritualistic. The materialistic and more usual 
type explains everything as due to the movements of 
atoms, from the processes of inanimate nature to the 
formation of the highest organisms and the greatest pro- 
ductions of the human mind. All is the result of a 
purposeless collision and rebounding of an infinite num- 
ber of atoms. 

We turn now from our account of pluralism in its two 
rival forms, theism and atheism, to a brief statement of 
the various ontological forms that it has taken. Indi- 
vidual substances must be material, spiritual, or both. 
In the first case we refer to them as atoms ; in the second 
case as spirits, sometimes as monads ; in the third case as 
the atoms of the hylozoist. 

Atomism ^ is one of the pluralistic theories that arose 
to remove the Eleatic and Heraclitic deadlock. Like the 
other pluralistic theories, it did this by accepting the un- 
cbangeableness of substance and by explaining change as 
an alteration in the relative positions of different sub- 
stances. Ancient atomism is set forth preeminently in 
the teaching of I^eucippus and Democritus, and in the 
"De Rerum Natura" of Lucretius. In the Renascence 
we have the revival of this ancient theory, to some 
extent, in the monadism of Giordano Bruno, but espe- 
cially in the epicureanism of Gassendi. Descartes re- 
fused to accept the atomistic theory, and regarded matter 
as divisible ad infinitum. The great influence Carte- 
sianism gained in Europe tended to postpone any further 
development of atomism till Leibniz and Newton won a 
hearing. 

Leibniz spiritualizes the old atoms and describes them 
as unextended. Hence we shall place him among the 
spiritualists. We have, none the less, in his theory, the 

^ Parallel Reading : Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 145-158 ; Weber, His- 
tory of Philosophy, pp. 55-58 ; Windelband, History of Philosophy, Sec- 
tion 10. 



INTRODUCTORY 



231 



beginning of a new conception of the atom, combining 

somewhat the old hylozoism and the mechanical views of 

modern natural philosophy. The new conception regards 

the atom not as an inert mass, but as a non-extended 

centre of force. In short, as matter was endowed by the 

ancient materialist with life, so now the atom is endowed 

with motion, and the conceptions of matter and motion 

are combined in the concept of force. This theory was 

set forth in our own century by Faradaj'. 

Spiritual pluralism is the theory of the great German Spiritual- 

philosopher Leibniz.^ He was dissatisfied with the Car- '^^}'^ ,. 
^ ^ Plurahsm. 

tesian conception of matter and substituted for it that 
of force, and then, too, he carried over the infinitesimal 
calculus of his mathematical studies to the explanation 
of nature. 

Berkeley also set forth a spiritualistic pluralism, the 
world being composed of the Infinite Spirit, God, and the 
finite spirits, with their perceptions. The material world 
exists solely in the consciousness of God and the finite 
spirits.^ 

Dualistic pluralism, after what has thus far been said, DualisUc 
need be only mentioned. Among the dualistic pluralists -P^"'"«^*«"*- 
should be named Descartes, the Cartesians, and John 
Locke. 

Singularism^ or pantheism tends to break down all 

1 For Leibniz' Monadology, cf. Weber, History of Philosophy, Section 
66. For a fuller discussion of Leibniz' Monadology, cf. Zeller, Geschichte 
der deutschen Philosophie seit Leibniz, 2d ed., Munich, 1875 ; Erdmann, 
Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Darstellung der neueren Philosophie, 6 
vols., Riga and Leipzig, 1834-53 ; and especially the 3d volume in Kuno 
Fischer's Geschichte der neueren Philosophie, 4th ed., Heidelberg, 1902. 

2 Among recent writers we may refer especially to Wilhelm Wundt 
(1832-) as a Pluralist (Spiritualistic). For Wundt's views, cf. his System 
der Philosophie, 2d ed., Leipzig, 1897. For a brief resum6 of Wundt's 
philosophy, cf . Uberweg-Heinze, Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie, 
8th ed., Teil 3, Bd. 2, S. 267-273. 

3 Parallel Beading : Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 232-243 ; Weber, His- 
tory of Philosophy, pp. 325-334. 



232 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

(b) Singu- distinctions that would give any part of the universe 
It denies an individuality. All parts are but sides of one great all- 
absolute inclusive whole. An individual object, person, or event 
ityto things. ^^ ^^^ ^ momentary state of the universe; and we may 
go even as far as to deny the existence of individuals 
altogether. 

In one sense, all that regard the universe as a har- 
monious whole, as being obedient to some universal law 
or order, all these are singularists. Thus the distinction 
. between the singularism, that does not deny the existence 
of the individual in some sense, and pluralism is not a 
sharp one, but the one theory merges gradually into the 
other. The only sharply opposing theories would be 
those that altogether deny the existence of the individual 
and those that deny all unity to the universe, or rather 
assert the existence of many absolutely non-related or 
independent worlds. This latter theory, however, seems 
too audacious to be held by any one. 
Its extreme The extreme form of singularism, as said, denies the 
existence of the individual altogether, and regards what 
we call the manifoldness of the world as illusion. It is 
perhaps best represented in Indian philosophy. West- 
ern thought has, however, had its extreme singularists, 
namely, the Eleatics. Being is for them absolutely 
one. The world of change or of individuality is illu- 
sion. But, strictly speaking, Heraclitus should be 
counted among these same singularists. A world in 
constant flux is .'.a world just as little admitting the 
possibility of individuals as the world of the Eleatics. 
Where there is no permanency there is no thing distinct 
from other thirigs; there is nothing but the whole. 
Where all is change there is but the change. This 
extreme form of singularism, however, is due to diffi- 
culties that belong to early and primitive thought, and 
that modern philosophy has practically discarded. 

To pass on to forms of singularism that have seriously 



form. 



INTRODUCTORY 233 

tried to solve the problem : What is the individual, and its expiana- 
what is his relation to the whole ? The question, we may *n'Ji°y*|dual 
say, has been answered in two ways. The older way is 
that of the Neo-Platonists, where the individual is re- 
garded as an emanation from the fundamental source of 
the universe like the light sent out in all directions by 
the sun. As the light recedes farther and farther from its 
source, it approaches nearer and nearer to darkness, till 
finally it becomes infinitesimal, or altogether darkness. 
As these rays of light are emanations from the source 
of the light, the sun, so is the individual an emanation 
from the All in All, the Central Source of all things, 
or God. 

The later forms of singularism explain the individual 
as a modification of God, the Ground of the Universe, or 
as a stage in his development. 

The great singularistic systems in modern philosophy 
are those of Spinoza, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, and 
Schopenhauer. For Spinoza the individual things mak- 
ing up the world and its order are modifications of the 
absolute. They follow necessarily from God's nature, 
or essence, just as it follows from the nature of a tri- 
angle that the sum of its angles is equal to two right 
angles. The question is how we are to regard the or- 
der of things relatively to the time of their appearance. 
That these so-called individuals come and go Spinoza 
does not deny. Yet their relation to the ens absolute 
infinitum, or God, seems not to be that of different stages 
of his evolution. The only solution of this question we 
get from Spinoza is that the world-process is not related 
to God temporally, but follows from his nature as an 
eternal verity irrespective of time. Spinoza seems, then, 
not to believe in the evolution of God. 

Hence we may say that the doctrine of the evolution of 
the absolute with its corollary, the individual, is a stage in 
that development, is a third singularistic theory. It is 



234 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

the one which has been widely held in the nineteenth cen- 
tury and whose leading representatives are to be found 
among the Hegelians. 

But let us turn now from our historical epitome to a 
critical discussion of the two chief theories of the world- 
order, — pluralism and singularism. 



CHAPTER XXVII 



PLURALISM 



We have already seen that popular opinion, and with Cosmology 
it the more primitive views of the world, is pluralistic, contradict 
Pluralism has thus always had natural thought and tra- theetMco- 
dition on its side. Besides these, there have been two conscious- 
other forces of equal strength, — the moral and the re- nessofman, 
iigious. These latter are so powerful that any theory does not 

of the world that hopes to stand must be brought into Py°^^ 

•'■ *=> pluralism. 

harmony with them. Hence, the demands of the moral 
and the religious consciousness of man must be listened 
to and must be satisfied. However, there is more than 
one way of satisfying such demands. We may surrender 
our singularism and accept the pluralistic doctrine in 
full; or we may join hands with the singularist and agree 
to seek back of the points in controversy for some deeper 
truth that will enable us to become reconciled with plu- 
ralism by showing our theories to be not really, but only 
apparently, in conflict. Of the two, the latter has been 
the course in the controversy over cosmology, for both 
parties were too strong for either to give up the fight 
ignominiously and to confess that it was wholly in the 
wrong. 

Let us learn their controversy more in detail. If a it is true 
man is a moral agent, he must be accountable for his g^gjit 
acts; therefore his acts must be his, and not forced on morality 
him from without. He must be free and independent, substantial 
His body, it is true, belongs to the world of physical "^depen- 
things and obeys the laws of motion ; but his soul is free. 

235 



236 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



will ; but 
this we can- 
not admit. 
However, a 
reconcilia- 
tion may be 
still found. 



It makes its own laws ; that is, it decides for itself in 
at least partial independence of the forces acting from 
without. 

Now there might be two kinds of forces acting from 
without. There might be, first, the agent or agents 
through whose activity the soul came into being. That 
is, the soul might be so formed that although it led a 
life of complete independence, this life might still be 
dictated by the agent that created it. It might be pre- 
destined to walk in the very paths its will afterward 
seemed to choose freely. Ordinarily this view has taken 
either the religious form, that God in creating the soul 
predestined it to a definite life, or a biological form, in 
the doctrine of mental and cerebral heredity. 

Secondly, the forces determining the action of the soul 
may come directly from without. Such are the forces with 
which we are acquainted in psychology. The influence 
of environment upon the life of each human being, as 
well as the complete uniformity between cerebral activ- 
ity and consciousness, give evidence that human conduct 
does not present an essentially different problem for our 
powers of prediction from those presented by any other 
events in nature. 

Man's moral responsibility is no doubt a principle that 
will have to be maintained against all odds ; but we have 
already shown reasons why it cannot be maintained by 
denying that an act of the mind is subject to the same 
laws of uniformity that work in nature and, admittedly, 
also in many of the mental processes, especially those of 
the intellect. Further, we believe that there is a valid 
argument against pluralism, to be brought forward later, 
which will force us to seek some deeper principle of 
reconciliation between singularism and the moral order 
than even cosmology can find. However, the theological 
cosmology dictated in part by the religious consciousness 
cannot be dismissed so abruptl}^ 



PLUKALISM 237 

Theism ^ maintains the existence of an infinite eternal still theism 
Being outside of the world, to which the latter owes its ^eserves™^ 
being, its nature, and the laws of its governance. To hearing. 
avoid making the world only a manifestation of God, 
and thus making God the only true substance, theism 
is forced to give to the world a real existence outside 
of God. 

The popular form of this theory has been the following : Popular 
Some time in the course of past ages, God, by a divine '^i^eism. 
fiat, brought our cosmos into being. Its creation was 
out of nothing or, in the more primitive theory, was an 
ordering of a chaos or even a giving birth to the world. 
Then, too, God is represented as breaking into the order 
of nature from without and, either through miracles or 
in a less noticeable way, as providentially guiding the 
course of events. The relationship between God and 
the world is supposed to be close, and his direct inter- 
ference with the world-process frequent. 

Many forces have been at work to set aside this semi- The disinte- 
mythological popular cosmology. As the conception of f^rs^Xwof 
God has become less and less primitive, as God ceases to the world in 
be a mere human being with tremendous intellect and thought, 
power, and becomes idealized into the omniscient, omnip- 
otent, eternal, infinite Being, he becomes farther and 
farther separated from the world-order and its individual 
events. There is no need, or at least less and less need, 
for the infinite divine foresight to interfere in the mech- 
anism of its first creation. The very perfection of God's 
work drives us to conclude one of two things : either that 
God once and for all created and started the world on its 
career,^ or else that every event, to the minutest vibra- 
tion of an infinitesimal atom, is his direct creative act. 
Either God lives apart from the world, never interfering 

1 As a theory of creation we are not here concerned with it, but must 
reserve that part of the discussion for cosmogony. 

2 The view of deism in the eighteenth century. 



238 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

in its process, or else he is the direct cause of every 
change that takes place within it. 

But other forces besides a growing idealization of God 
have been at work. The world to us moderns is no 
longer the spatially finite world of the Middle Ages. 
Its infinite expanse makes God an impossible co-dweller 
in space. Space no longer seems to us his proper 
dwelling-place, for to be in space would seem to us now 
to be part of the world. Then, too, as geology and 
astronomy have pushed back the origin of the earth and 
the solar system by enormous periods of time, we realize 
more vividly not only the age of our present solar and 
sidereal systems, but also the impossibility of placing a 
beginning for nature's process in time. Again, science 
has taken one after another of the supposed needs for 
divine interference into nature's course and thrown them 
aside. Man's creation, or that of any other species, is 
to-day essentially no more wonderful than any other 
occurrence. The Darwinian theory brought life and the 
origin of its forms under the same scientific categories 
as other facts of nature. The ultimate origin of life, 
though unknown even to-day, is still no longer a problem 
too great for science to wrestle with. In the same way, 
the nebular hypothesis of Kant and Laplace and Newton's 
law of gravitation have put the problem of the origin of 
our solar and sidereal systems with the same class. 

Thus the advance of science, from the time of the new 
astronomy in the days of the Renascence down to that 
of the higher criticism of the Old and New Testaments 
to-day, has been rapidly transferring every seemingly 
anomalous phenomenon into the class of ordinary events. 

Let no one draw the conclusion that this makes the 
world deserve less our reverence and our intellectual 
wonder. The miraculous and the semi-miraculous in the 
older conceptions seem to us to-day thrown out of court,. 
not because they are of divine origin, but because they 



PLURALISM 239 

are anomalous. If you will, the universe as a whole and 
every event in it is miraculous; but anomalous events 
science will have none of. If you grant that there is a 
science of the physical phenomena in a game of billiards, 
you must grant science permission to explain every event 
in the whole range of eternity. 

Such changes in the thoughts of men have necessitated This 
a far different theistic cosmology from that which was held tiorTof^'^ 
of old. God's relationship to the individual event now Theism 
becomes either indefinitely remote or indefinitely near, to Atheism 
The one way leads toward an atheistic cosmology, the other ^^ *» 

.. „ 1 /~t 1 ^ Pantheism, 

toward a pantheistic. It we make Cxod more and more and the real 
remote, there is no stopping-place on this side of infinity P^oWem of 
where he will be remote enough. To make him infi- must be left 
nitely remote is simply to make him absolutely extra- ""solved. 
mundane; and that means to declare that the world is 
absolutely independent of him ; and that, in turn, means 
to remove every rational demand for his existence ; and 
this, finally, is to deny that existence. To put God's 
relation to the world before all time, is to put it at no 
time whatever. 

On the other hand, if we bring God nearer and nearer 
to each individual event, how can we regard that event 
as anything but a manifestation of him ? What part can 
any tertium quid, any second substance, play? If we 
draw God nearer, there is again no stopping-place on this 
side of the infinitesimal ; and that means that we must 
identify God and the substance of each of the world's 
manifestations. A second substance other than God 
would be like the God infinitely removed from the 
world. Its part would be taken from it; the rational 
demand for its existence would be gone ; and we should 
be forced to deny its existence and make God the one 
eternal, infinite substance beneath all the world's mani- 
festations. 

Thus, if we use the word "theism" in this sense, a 



240 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The real 
problem of 
Cosmology- 
is the 

Problem of 
Change. 
Dialectic 
seems to 
force us to 
find in 
change a 
contradic- 
tion of 
being. 
Hence the 
possibility 
of change 
arises as a 
problem. 



theistic cosmology is no longer a serious contestant for 
recognition. However, the religious consciousness that 
has been its chief supporter cannot be ignored. The 
human reason has the demands of this consciousness to 
reckon with, and dares not forget them. But the 
trouble has been that the demands of the religious con- 
sciousness sought their satisfaction in the field of cos- 
mology; whereas a deeper theory than cosmology must 
take them up and give us a view of the world wherein 
the ultimate demands of religion are both heard and re- 
spected, and the new cosmology is reconciled with the 
old religion. In setting aside the latter at this point, 
we do so only temporarily; but we do so with the dis- 
tinct purpose of freeing cosmology from the religious 
problem. 

But what problem is of right at the basis of cosmology? 
Without hesitation we can answer, The problem of 
change. Let us see what this answer means. 

It seems quite commonplace to say, "Whatever is, is "; 
but when we ask ourselves what we mean by the word 
"is," we shall find that we have unconsciously come 
upon a very serious problem indeed. Thus, we might 
lengthen out our truism by adding, "A thing either is 
or is not; it cannot be both," and then proceed to ask, 
how about something that is changing its character ? Is 
it not first one thing and then quite a different thing? 
"Yes," you reply, "quite true, it is first one thing and 
then it is the other thing ; but, mark well, never both at 
once." But are you quite sure you have not admitted 
this very point that you deny? If something is white, it 
must be so for some length of time, no matter how short 
that time may be ; a millionth of a second will do for our 
purpose as well as a thousand years. Afterward it is 
something else. How long a time intervenes between 
the instant when X=a and when X=b? If you reply 
"some time," then Xduring that interval must have been 



PLURALISM 241 

either a or b or something else, n. By hypothesis it was 
not a OT b; and you have forced us to ask whether there 
was any interval of time between X being a and X 
being w. If you say "yes," again, we are finally forced 
to have you tell what X was immediately after it was a. 
■ This you do. X in ceasing to be a becomes m. If now 
there was any interval between a and m, either X was, 
contrary to hypothesis, something else, e.g. q, or it was 
nothing at all. The latter conclusion would hardly be 
acceptable, so we seem forced to conclude that no inter- 
val of time intervenes between X=a and X=m. But if 
this be so, if no time intervened, then the two instants 
must be identical. So you have been driven to say X is 
a and is not a, namely, m; in short, something is and is 
not all in the same instant. ^ 

Thus it is that change seems to contradict being. This is one 
This problem is an old one, and perhaps we had better probfems^of 
discuss it in its ancient historical setting which we have Greek 
already sketched. We saw that in the days of early 
Greek philosophy three distinct groups of thinkers took 

1 The answer to this diflBculty (as we shall see later) is : we nevei' refer 
by the term "is" ultimately to the changing element, but only to the 
permanent or abiding element, amid the changing. If we call a horse 
white, we refer to some element in his existence that is not changing, 
though he himself may be undergoing many other changes, e.g. running, 
growing, eating, etc. Thus, whenever we interpret this changing element, 
■we always have to analyze it into two elements, — a permanent and a 
changing. The permanent element we refer to as "being" (it consists 
really of a law of change) ; the other we can ultimately never interpret 
except to coordinate it with the permanent. This ultimately is the basis 
not only of atomism, but of all knowledge. Knowledge, as we shall see, 
always seeks for the permanent amid the changing. This, then, shows 
the fallacy of a skepticism founded on the argument given above. The 
■world consists of two elements, — the permanent and the changing. 
Pluralism tries to explain the latter ; but as we shall see, it is inexplicable, 
and therefore pluralism fails. Singularism accepts it as inexplicable 
except as it may be coordinated with the permanent ; and this means we 
never interpret change as such but only its laws — they form the permanent, 
or Being. 



Philosophy. 



242 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

their turn at the problem. The first group found the 

difficulty we have just noted in assuming that anything 

that is, can possibly change; and they were bold enough 

By the to draw and maintain the conclusion that whatever is, 

Eleatics ^j^gg j^^^ change. Since whatever is, helps to make up 



declared not reality, and what is not is nothing at all, and therefore 
BerngTs isdls outside of reality, they maintained that reality is 
changeless, eternally the same, and that change is a mere delusion. 

These philosophers were called Eleatics, and their chief 

representative was one Parmenides.^ 

1 His views on this problem are given in "Weber's History of 
Philosophy as follows : — 

"Starting out with the idea of being, he proves that that which is 
cannot have become what it is, nor can it cease to be, nor become 
something else ; for if being has begun to exist, it has come either from 
being or non-being. Now, in the former case, it is its own product, it has 
created itself, which is equivalent to saying that it has not originated, — 
that it is eternal. The latter case supposes that something can come from 
nothing, which is absurd. For the same reasons, that which exists can 
neither change nor perish, for in death it would pass either into being or 
into non-being. If being is changed into being, then it does not change ; 
and to assume that it becomes nothing is as impossible as to make it come 
from nothing. Consequently being is eternal. It is, moreover, immovable ; 
for it could move only in space ; now space is or is not ; if space is, it is 
identical with being, and to say of being that it is moved in space is to 
say that being is moved in being, which means that it is at rest. If space 
is nothing, there cannot be any movement either, for movement is 
possible only in space. Hence, movement cannot be conceived in any way, 
and is but an appearance. Being is a continuous and indivisible whole. 
There is no void anywhere. There is no break between being and being ; 
consequently these are no atoms. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, 
that there existed a void, a break between the assumed parts of the 
universe. If this interval is something real, it is what being is, it 
continues being, instead of interrupting it ; it unites the bodies instead of 
dividing them into parts. If the void does not exist, then it can no longer 
divide them. There is then no interval between being and being, and 
all beings constitute but one single being. Being (the universe) is absolute 
and self-sufficient ; it has neither desires nor wants nor feelings of any 
kind. If it were relative, it could depend only on that which is or that 
■which is not. If being depends on being, it depends upon itself or is 
independent ; if it depends on that which does not exist, it is still inde- 
pendent, which excludes from it all desire, all need, all feeling. When 



PLUEALISM 



243 



Opposed to this conclusion was one equally extreme, 
taught by Heraclitus of Ephesus. The fact of change is 
undeniable. If we must give up either being or change, 
it must be the former, not the latter. In short, change is 
everj^thing.^ 

- The third group made a number of attempts to solve 
the dilemma reached by the foregoing doctrines. Its 
chief members were the atomists Leucippus and Democ- 
ritus. This third group is made up of the first philo- 
sophic pluralists; and their attempt to solve our problem 
marks the origin of this cosmological theory. However, 
the atomic theory is only one of two great types of plural- 
ism. The one denies all change within the atom, the 
other teaches that change does take place there. Let us 
consider first the former, or atomism. 

According to the atomists, both Parmenides and Hera- 
clitus were right. As the former maintained, "Being" 
is unchangeable ; yet at the same time change does take 
place. If the existent, or "Being," is permanent, then 
change cannot be a modification of "Being"; it must be 



According to 
Heraclitus 
all is change. 



The attempt 
of Pluralism 
to solve the 
deadlock. 



Two types of 
Pluralism. 



a. Atomism. 



one is everything, one has no desires. Finally, being is one ; for a second 
being or a third being would be but a continuation of it, that is, itself. 
Hence, to sum up : Being can only be conceived as eternal, immutable, 
immovable, continuous, indivisible, infinite, unique. There is for the 
thinker but one single being, the All-One, in whom all individual differ- 
ences are merged. The being that thinks and the being that is thought 
are the same thing." 
1 Heraclitus' position, in the words of Professor Weber, is the following: — 
" Universal life is an endless alternation of creation and destruction — a 
game which Jupiter plays with himself. Rest, standstill, in a word, being, 
is an illusion of the senses. It is not possible to descend twice into 
the same stream ; nay, it is not even possible to descend into it at 
once ; we are and we are not in it ; we make up our minds to plunge into 
the waves, and, behold ! they are already far away from us. In the 
eternal whirl, the nothing constantly changes into being, and being is 
incessantly swallowed up in nothingness. Since non-being produces 
being, and vice versa, being and non-being, life and death, origin and 
decay, are the same. If they were not, they could not be transformed 
into each other." 



244 INTRODUCTION TO rHILOSOPHY 

explained otherwise. But what other explanation is 
possible? There is but one answer. "Being "must be 
made up of individual "Beings," and change must be an 
alteration of the relations between these individual 
"Beings," but not an alteration of the "Beings " them- 
selves. In the teaching of Democritus " Being " is 
divided "into an iniinite number of infinitely small 
molecules, which come together and separate. In that 
way bodies are formed and destroyed. These molecules 
are infinite in number and indivisible, without, however, 
being mathematical points, for an unextended thing 
would be nothing. They are identical in chemical 
quality, but differ in size and form. They are endowed 
with perpetual motion, which they do not receive from 
a transcendent principle, but which belongs to their 
essence." These atoms exist in empty space, and all 
change consists in an alteration of their relative positions, 
not in a change within the atoms themselves. 
But Does his theory truly solve the problem of change ? It 

f u'^uit t certainly does not. True, change does not take place 
explain within the atoms ; but none the less change takes place. 

c ange. Where? Within reality, if not within the atom. If 

this be not true, then change is denied entirely and we 
have the doctrine of Parmenides again. Forced, then, to 
admit that change takes place, the atomists are equally 
forced to attribute that change to the world. In short, 
the world in its totality contains change, therefore we 
have to explain it, and atomism has failed to do so. 
Atomism has simply pushed change out of one part of 
reality into another, namely, space; but space and the 
possibility of change within it are left unsolved mysteries. 
Thus pluralists of this type solve the problem of change 
only by pushing change itself into a corner, and by trying 
to cover it up; but all the time they are surreptitiously 
keeping the unsolved mystery conveniently at hand. 
But there is another great type of pluralism. Let us 



PLURALISM 245 

see whether its attempt to explain change is any more b. Mona- 
successful. This second type is that developed in the ^°°^' 
celebrated " monadology " of Leibniz: It admits the 
existence of change within each ultimate entity, or 
monad. The monads are absolutely simple, indivisible 
entities that "may be compared to physical points or to 
mathematical points ; but they differ from the former in 
that they have no extension, and from the latter in that 
they are objective realities " (really existing entities). 
Each one of these monads is a self-acting entity; in fact, 
all its activities, according to Leibniz, come from it 
alone. It is never acted upon from without. However 
this may be, the important point for us is that the mona- 
dology puts change within each entity, no matter how the 
change gets there. What is the consequence ? 

Surely this theory does not explain change through its This, too, 
pluralism ; for it puts change within the individual entity, to exp^a^^ 
and change there demands as much explanation as any- change, 
where else. Did we attempt, as followers of such a doc- 
trine, to explain change, we should have to take each 
monad and analyze it (contrary to hypothesis) into simple 
entities, and so go back to the old atomism with its 
changeless entities. But this, as we have seen, would 
help us in no way whatever. 

Thus neither form of pluralism helps in the slightest 
degree to explain change as such. Both forms assume its 
existence. The one assumes it within the world at large, 
the other within the atom, or monad ; but neither in any 
way explains it. As an explanation of change pluralism 
is a failure. 

But there is another question that pluralism must A second 
answer concerning change, besides that of its explana- changTthat 
tion. If the world is made up of a plurality of indi- Pluralism 

trifis to 

vidual entities, how are we to explain the cosmos ? The explain is 
atoms seem to obey one another ; one seems to act upon t^^ '"^t^r- 

, T . 1 1 T • p • • action, or 

another and cause it to alter the direction oi its motion. 



246 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



seeming 
interaction, 
between 
things. 



i. Occa- 
sionalism 
and the 
preestab- 
lished har- 
mony. They 
both leave 
the problem 
unsolved. 



In this way Democritus explains how change takes place 
in the large bodies that make up our sensible world. 
Did each atom lead a life absolutely by itself, if it moved 
and never affected in any way the motion of another 
atom, we should have not one great world, with its won- 
derful order and harmony, but as many worlds as there 
are atoms. But one fact that every sane mind is obliged 
to admit is at least the seeming interaction of different 
things. Sunshine makes the plant grow. The fire makes 
the ice melt. One billiard ball sets the other in motion. 
The spark explodes the gunpowder. Food makes us 
grow. Good blood improves our mental powers. Our 
second problem, then, is this: How do you account for 
this seeming change that one atom, or ultimate entity, is 
able to produce within another entity? 

There are but two possible answers for pluralists to 
make, and in fact they have made both. They can admit 
that one ultimate entity does produce changes elsewhere 
in the world than in itself, or they can deny this. 

Let us consider what follows when they deny it. You 
deny that one monad, or atom, acts in any way upon 
another. How then, we ask, do you account for the 
order and uniformity in the activities of different enti- 
ties, and the general appearance of interaction? There 
are just two ways open to you. You can say that the 
seeming interaction, or uniformity, is due to mere chance. 
Good. Do so. What is the result? You have simply 
admitted that it is inexplicable, for that is all chance 
means. If it is a matter of chance, or inexplicable, then 
your theory is no better than any other theory as far as 
this problem is concerned. In short, it is a self-admission 
of failure, for it tells us that pluralism throws no light 
on our problem whatsoever. 

But now suppose that you do not attribute the seeming 
order of the world to mere chance, but admit that it de- 
mands an explanation. You deny interaction, but you 



PLURALISM 247 

admit that there must be a princijDle somewhere to 
explain the uniformity. This principle cannot be the ' 
atoms, or monads, themselves. It is God. Then we 
are to understand that the uniformity, or order, of the 
cosmos is the work of God, and that therefore its prin- 
ciple does not lie in the world, but in an extra-mundane 
being. God may bring about this harmony, or world- 
order, by constant interference, namel}^ by the constant 
interposition of the creative act (occasionalism) ; or he 
may have so ordered each monad as he created it that it 
would act to all eternity in conformity with the acts of 
all other monads (the preestablished harmony). But 
to take up the former theory, how does occasionalism 
explain interaction? Clearl}^, it assumes it. Between 
God and the world there is constant interaction, and this 
interaction is left quite unexplained. But again, does 
the preestabished harmony explain interaction any more 
than does occasionalism? It does not. On the contrary, 
it merely puts the whole problem back at the time of 
creation, or in the creation; in short, solves one mj^stery 
by giving another unexplained mystery, or by a sort of 
metaphysical sleight of hand. You explain by throwing 
us suddenly into darkness and then turning on the light 
and telling us, "See, it is all done." That is no ex- 
planation. You take change out of the world, put it in 
God, then bring it back again. Why all this ceremony ? 
How does God act on the world? That is the question, 
and you leave it unanswered; and it is the very same 
question, twist it as you will. How does one entity act 
upon another? 

Thus, both attempts to deal with interaction as non- 
existent are complete failures. They explain nothing, 
and therefore give us no justification for pluralism as an 
explanation of change. 

Let us now return to the former pluralistic hypothesis 
which admits interaction. Let us see whether in it plu- 



248 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

ralism can in truth explain how one entity acts upon an- 
• other. The noted German philosopher, Hermann Lotze, 
ii. The deals this type of pluralism a fatal blow. Let us listen to 

Z7ZSL the words of his Metaphysics. 

"The transfer of an influence, E, is the process by 
Lotze shows which according to the common view it is sought to 
theory like- explain the excitement of Things, previously unaffected 
wise pre- by each other, to the exercise of their active force ; and 

supposes the , , . n • j • • j j 

very thing it the proccss IS generally conceived m a one-sided way as 
claims to ^n emanation proceeding from an active Being only, and 
directed upon a passive Being. That this representation 
only serves to indicate the fact of which an explanation 
is sought, becomes at once apparent if we attempt to define 
the proper meaning and nature of that to which, under 
the figurative name of influence, we ascribe that transi- 
tion from the one Being to the other. Only one sup- 
position would make the matter perfectly clear; the 
supposition, namely, that this E which makes the transi- 
tion is a Thing, capable of independent reality, which 
detaches itself from its former connection with v4, and 
enters into a similar or different connection with some- 
thing else, B. But precisely in this case, unless some- 
thing further supervened, there would be no implication 
of that action of one thing on another, which it is sought 
to render intelligible. If a moist body, A, becoming dry 
itself, makes a dry body, B, moist, it is the palpable 
water, E, which here effects this transition. If, how- 
ever, what we understood by moisture was merely the 
presence of this water, at the end of the transition 
neither A nor B would have undergone a change of 
its own nature, such a change as it was our object to 
bring under the conception of an effect attained by an 
active cause. The transition itself is all that has taken 
place. 

"True, the withdrawal of the water alters the drying 
body; its accession alters the body that becomes moist. 



PLUKALISM 249 

The connection between the minutest particles changes as 
the liquid forces its way among them. As they are forced 
asunder, they form a larger volume and the connection 
between them becomes tougher, while the drying body 
becomes more brittle as it shrinks in extent. These are 
effects of the kind which we wish to understand, but the 
supposed transition of the water does not suffice for their 
explanation. After the water has reached its new posi- 
tion in the second body, B^ the question arises completely 
anew what the influence is which, so placed, it is able 
to exercise — an influence such that the constituents of 
B are compelled to alter their relative positions. In like 
manner the question would arise how the removal of the 
water from A could become for this body a reason for the 
reversal of its properties. This illustration will be found 
universally applicable. Wherever an element, E^ capa- 
ble of independent motion, passes from A to B, — thus in 
all cases where we observe what can properly be called a 
causa transiens, — there universally this transition is only 
preliminary to the action of one body on another. This 
action follows the transition, beginning in a manner 
wholly unexplained only when the transition is com- 
pleted. Nor would it be of the slightest help if, follow- 
ing a common tendency of the imagination, we tried to 
sublimate the transeunt element into something more 
subtle than a ' thing. ' Whatever spiritual entity we 
might suppose to radiate from A to B, at the end of its 
journey it would indeed be in B; but the question how, 
being there, it might begin to exert its action upon 
constituents different from it, would recur wholly 
unanswered. 

"This difficulty suggests the next transformation of 
the common view. Instead of the causative thing 
(Ursache), we suppose a force, an action, or a state, 
U, to pass from A to B. We may suppose these various 
expressions, which are to some extent ambiguous, to have 



250 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

SO far a clear notion attached to them, that they denote 
something else than a thing. They thus avoid the ques- 
tion how the thing acts on other things after its transi- 
tion has been effected. But in that case they are liable 
to the objection, familiar to the old metaphysic, attrihuta 
non separantur a suhstantiis. No state, E, can so far de- 
tach itself from the thing, J., of which it was a state, as 
to subsist even for an infinitesimal moment between A 
and B^ as a state of neither, and then to unite itself with 
B in order to become its state. 

" The same remark would apply if that which passed 
from A to B were supposed, by a change of expression, 
to be an action, and thus not a state, but an event. No 
event could detach itself from the A, in change of which 
it consists, and leave this A unchanged behind it in 
order to make its way independently . to B. According 
to this conception of it, so far as it is a possible concep- 
tion at all, the action thus supposed to transfer itself 
would simply be the whole process of efficient causation 
which it is the problem to explain, not a condition, in 
itself intelligible, which would account for the result 
being brought about. 

" And after all these inadmissible representations would 
not even bring the advantage they were meant to bring. 
As in regard to the transition of independent causative 
things, so in regard to the transition of the state, or 
event, E^ from A to B, the old question would recur. 
Granting that E could separate itself from J., what gave 
it its direction at the particular moment to B, rather 
than to (7? If we assume that A has given it this direc- 
tion, we presuppose the same process of causative action 
as taking place between A and E^ for which we have not 
yet found an intelligible account as taking place between 
A and B. Nor is this all. Since it will not be merely 
on B and C, but presumably on many other beings that 
A will put forth its activity, we shall have to ask the 



PLURALISM 251 

further question, what it is that at a given moment de- 
termines A to impart to U the direction toward B and 
not toward O, or toward C and not toward B. An 
answer to this question could only be found in the 
assumption that already at this moment A is subject to 
some action of B^ and not at the same time to any action 
of O, and that there thus arises in it the counteraction, 
in the exercise of which it now enjoins upon JE the transi- 
tion to B and not to 0. Thus for the second time we 
should have to presuppose an action which we do not 
understand before we could present to ourselves so much 
as the possibility of that condition which is no more than 
the preliminary to a determinate action. 

" Finally, it is important to realize how completely im- 
possible is the innocent assumption that the transferred 
B will all of a sudden become a state of B, when once it 
has completed its journey to B. Had this homeless state 
once arrived at the metaphysical place which B occupies, 
it would indeed be there, but what would follow from 
that? Not even that it would remain there. It might 
continue its mysterious journey to infinity and, as it was 
once a no-man's state, so remain. For the mere purpose 
of checking it in its course we must make the yet further 
supposition of an arresting action of B upon it. And given 
this singular notion, it would still be a long way to the 
consequence that B, being an independent state, not be- 
longing to anything in particular, should not only somehow 
attach itself to the equally independent being, B, but 
should become a state of this B itself, an affection or change 
of B. These accumulated difficulties make it clear that 
the coming to pass of a causative action can never be ex- 
plained by the transfer of any influence, but that what we 
call such a transfer is nothing but a designation of that 
which has taken place in the still unexplained process of 
causation, or which may be regarded as its result." ^ 

1 Lotze, Metaphysics (English translation), Vol. I, p. 134 ff. 



252 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Thus 
Pluralism 
fails quite to 
explain 
change. 

Must we 
then return 
to either 
Parmenicles 
or Hera- 
clitus ? 
No, for 
change is 
a fact, and 
yet all is 
not change. 



Thus the pluralism which admits interaction as well as 
that which denies it, fails to explain change. From be- 
ginning to end it assumes the very principles that it tries 
to explain. 

What are we then to conclude ? Are we to return to 
one of the extreme theories, either that of Parmenides,^ 
or that of Heraclitus, both of which pluralism sets itself 
to overcome? Surely not. Against Parmenides we must 
maintain that even if change were a delusion and not a 
reality, we in no way escape from the difficulty. A 
delusion at the least is a fact, and therefore demands 
explanation ; and Parmenides does not explain it. 

But does Heraclitus help us out of the difficulty? No 
better than did Parmenides; for what would be the con- 
sequence if we admitted that the world contains no per- 
manent element, but is a world of absolute becoming? 
First, we could not offer such a theory as an explanation, 
for on the extreme Heraclitic hypothesis all explanation 
of anything whatsoever becomes impossible. To explain 
we have to appeal to principles that always work or are 
valid; but in a world of absolute becoming our very 
principles would keep changing. Our explanation 
would have to be different every moment of time, for 
the next it would have ceased to be valid. It would 
thus be a world that admitted of explanation as little as 
did that of Parmenides. Surely, then, we dare not offer 
"absolute becoming" as an explanation without contra- 
dicting ourselves, for implicitly it denies the possibility 
of explanation. Whether such a world could exist, 
whether we might not be forced to give up the attempt 
at explanation altogether, is a question we must consider 
later in the theory of knowledge. 

Then, secondly, if the extreme Heraclitic theory were 

1 This means, of course, the extreme form to which their theories can 
easily be supposed to be brought, that is, the absolute denial of all change 
and the claim that absolutely all is change. 



PLURALISM 253 

right, there would be nothing to hold the world of one Further, 
moment to the world of the next. Did everything fig^^gj^es' 
change, if nothing were common to two successive mo- us not one 
ments, we should have not the same world undergoing ^definite 
changes, but two quite distinct worlds from moment to number of 
•moment. In short, an extreme form of the Heraclitic 
doctrine would annihilate the world by a principle that 
makes it an infinite number of worlds, each lasting only 
for the infinitesimal instant of time called the present. 
Clearly this is but another way to deny the cosmical 
character of the world and to maintain that it is really 
nothing but chaos. Just as you were in any given world, 
you would find that world the sum total of reality; for 
the other worlds would in no way reveal their past or 
future existence. This theory claims to tell us about 
a world with which we are acquainted; namely, about 
a world in which we live and move and have our be- 
ing, a world we can know — our own world. Now any 
such world as it describes could not be known. We 
could no^ be acquainted with it; and therefore, if it 
does exist, it cannot be the world that we are trying to 
interpret. 

Let us now see where our argument stands. The world Conclusion, 
is not one of absolute change; it is not one absolutely 
without change. We must admit the existence of both 
elements, — the permanent, or substance, and change, or 
the states of that substance. We tried to see whether plu- 
ralism, or the doctrine of many substances, would help us 
to explain that world of change ; but we found that plu- 
ralism in no way makes clear the mystery it attempts to 
solve. On the contrary, it makes darkness infinitely 
darker by giving us in each of the substances anew the 
same problem of change that we had to solve concerning 
the world as a whole. Each substance of pluralism is 
simply one more world added to the list. Each one 
demands for itself the same explanation that we seek 



254 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

for the world as a whole. Pluralism, therefore, only mag- 
nifies the difficulty, but in no way explains it. 

Yet even this is not the worst that may be said against 
pluralism. Each substance of pluralism, if the pluralist 
be consistent, is really a little world all by itself. For 
any one of them to come into relation with any other is 
to lose its own substantial character, is to submit to some 
higher power that really forms the true substance. In 
short, the pluralist was forced to find in God the only 
true substance, or else to deny all interaction among sub- 
stances, and to affirm an indefinite number of worlds. 
The absurdity of the latter conclusion we have already 
seen. The conclusion of the former is evident. It finds 
in God the only true substance. It denies pluralism and 
admits singularism. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

SINGULAEISM 

SiNGHLARiSM, as we have seen, denies that the world Singuiarism 
is a plurality of substances. But how can we look upon puiraiity of 
it as a unity ? That depends upon what you mean by the absolute 

/~v T •! IT 1 • ■• • things, and 

term. Ordinarily you and 1 mean by a unity sometning regards 
that is definitely separated from other thing's and that cha,ngeas 
stands out as an indivisible whole : but of course in this and so 
sense we do not know the world as a unity; for, as we ^gx^^^caWe 
have seen, we cannot place bounds to the world. Thus 
it is not a unity in the same sense that an apple or a 
house or a man is a unity; but the expression "unity of 
the world," like the expression "infinity," is negative. 
To assert the unity of the world is to deny its divisi- 
bility, just as to assert its infinity is to deny its limi- 
tation. 

But again you ask. Does singuiarism explain change? 
Pluralism did not; now does singuiarism? We admit 
frankly, it does not. The rejection of pluralism was 
because of its pretension to explain change, and secondly 
because the division of the world into substances was 
a division into worlds, a manifest absurdity. Singu- 
iarism does not explain change; rather it finds in change 
something just as ultimate and inexplicable as the very 
existence of a world, or reality itself. Change is part 
of the very nature of reality; change is an ultimate fact 
beyond which we cannot go, and what is more, beyond 
which there is no rational or sane need to go. We are 
not called upon to explain the ultimate. If we were, its 

255 



256 



INTRODUCTION TO PHII.OSOPHY 



But the 
denial of 
Pluralism 
does not rob 
it of all 
meaning 
and worth. 

In one sense 
change 
demands 
explanation, 
i.e. we must 
seek its 
laws of 
uniformity. 

Such laws 

presuppose 

constants. 



explanation would bring us to a further ultimate behind 
it. This, in turn, would need explanation ; and so we 
might proceed forever. The ultimate then as such calls 
for no explanation ; and therefore all that any scientific 
theory is called upon to do is to show that a given ele- 
ment is ultimate, and this part of its work is done. In 
short, we cannot explain change, as pluralism tried to do, 
by deducing it from the structure of the universe : but 
we can accept change as a fundamental constituent of 
reality and try to explain it in the limited sense of learn- 
ing its order, or the principles that govern it. 

But in accepting singularism are we to cast aside plu- 
ralism as meaningless and worthless ? By no means, for 
pluralism contains much that is true. When amended, its 
method of explaining change by searching for changeless 
entities is ultimately the only one by which we can deal 
with and interpret the changing world about us. You 
and I have before us, then, the task of reestablishing a 
modified pluralism, not the pluralism that would explain 
change absolutely, but a pluralism that seeks to formulate 
the laws of change (popularly called the laws of nature) 
between entities that are relatively changeless. 

If, shipwrecked, we were drifting on a raft in mid- 
ocean, how should we be able to say, first, that we were 
drifting, and next, to tell in which direction? The 
answer is evident. We should have to seek for some- 
thing that did not move, or whose movements were 
definitely known, and then determine our position rela- 
tively to that object; perhaps to watch the sun, the moon, 
and the stars, and our position in reference to them. Or 
if we stood on the bank of a river desiringr to know 
whether the tide were turning or had turned, we should 
perhaps throw sticks into the water and watch which way 
they went along the shore. In short, the only way in 
which we can determine motion, its existence, its direc- 
tion, its speed, is ultimately to compare it with some 



SINGULAEISM 257 

standard; and this standard must be motionless in refer- 
ence to the object compared. Did the shore move, we 
should have to determine its motion before using it as 
a standard to determine the direction of the tide. We 
should have to go back to some object that in reference to 
the river did not move. Thus in navigation when we use 
the sun to determine our position in mid-ocean, the moving 
sun would be useless as a standard did we not know the 
exact character of its motion and its altitude for that time 
of year. Every one acquainted with any form of exact 
measurement knows well how many conditions, such as 
temperature and, as in astronomy, the weight of the 
atmosphere, have to be taken into account. 

Again, if we have some colored cloth, and wish to deter- 
mine whether or not it has faded and to what extent, we 
seek as a standard of comparison some cloth that has not 
faded. It may be we can trust to our memory in this 
particular case, or it may be that part of the cloth has not 
faded much ; but still the more accurate way would be to 
compare it with a piece of the same stuff that had been so 
carefully preserved from all conditions which could alter its 
color that we might trust it to have remained the same. 

So of our mental states. Have we as bad a headache 
to-day as we had a fortnight ago ? Perhaps our memory 
is accurate enough to give us a trustworthy mental image 
of what we previously suffered. If not, we seek for some 
more trustworthy standard. Thus, last time I could not 
work, whereas to-day I can. Last time I described my 
pain in terms that indicated greater suffering than I now 
have, or last time my family saw visible signs in my face 
of pain and ill health, whereas to-day these symptoms are 
not evident. This shows how necessary it is to seek for 
some permanent basis or standard that will not vary, or 
whose variations are known. 

Now when we deal with the world at large, and try to 
measure or explain all its manifold changes taken together, 



258 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



These con- 
stants, 
though not 
ahsolute or 
substantial 
things, are 
still rela- 
tively- 
independent 
entities. 



■we have to seek again for something permanent. This we 
must have at the bottom of our system as a whole. That 
is, the only way in which we can tell even that there has 
been a change, or tell what the change has been, how 
great and how rapid, will always be to seek for the per- 
manent as a standard. Thus we are obliged to follow the 
lines of pluralism and treat change as an alteration not of 
a constant, but of relations between constants.^ 

We may then state our doctrine as follows : In a world 
always undergoing changes, the only way in which we can 
keep informed of their extent and character is to analyze 
the manifold processes we meet with and pick out the con- 
stants. These assumed constants to be of value must 
directly or indirectly go back to basal constants that are 
accepted for the time being, at least, as absolutely con- 
stant. All change must be interpreted in terms of these 
constants, and inasmuch as the constants themselves by 
hypothesis do not undergo change, the change must be 
without the constants, namely, in the relations obtaining 
among them. Now this is exactly the doctrine of plural- 
ism, with only this alteration : pluralism maintains that 
these constants are absolute, that they are true substantial 
entities ; whereas their true nature is but relative, that is, 
relative to the changes they are called upon to measure. 
They themselves may at any time be subject to further 
analysis, and a more fundamental system of constants be 
demanded. 

But what is the character of these constants? In their 
totality they will be of every sort and kind. Every pos- 
sible standard of comparison can be included. The most 
familiar constants known to science are of course the atoms 
of the different chemical elements; but these are by no means 
the only ones. Even could we work back to some ulti- 

lAll this is very briefly stated, but to discuss the question at greater 
length would be only to repeat many of the chapters of the Philosophy 
of Nature and of Mind, especially Chapters IV, VI, VIII, XVII, and XX. 



SINGULARISM 259 

mate kind of atoms to which we could reduce every form 
of material existence now in any way directly or indirectly 
known to us, even these would not be the only constants ; 
because though atomism gives us a basis for the quantita- 
tive explanation of changes, it does not give a basis for 
•purely qualitative comparisons. As we saw, science in its 
interpretation of the world cannot neglect the secondary 
qualities of things ; for they must have their explanation 
and interpretation as well as the primary qualities or purely 
quantitative relations. Ultimately, then, pluralism must 
include not only an atomism of quantity, but also one of 
quality. 

A similar truth holds of the mind as well as of nature. 
The ideal of mental analysis will always be to find atomic 
or simple mental states out of which the real or complex 
mental states of our consciousness are built up. How else 
can mental states be compared? Even the most general 
and vague comparisons involve some of this analysis or 
dissecting of the real living wholes of the mental stream. 

Thus we can well understand how science everywhere Thus the 
proceeds by a process quite analogous to that of the old g^i'Jnce'^s"^ 
atomism. It is the only way in which change can be only a 
interpreted. But in admitting this, let us not forget the j^^ absolute 
purely relative character of the atoms. They are perma- atomism, 
nent or constant only from the point of view of the less 
permanent. Absolutely, we have no means whatever to 
judge of any atom, for to-morrow's discovery may force 
us to dissect it into thousands of others. Likewise, 
the independence or individuality of any atom is but 
relative. Of course it is less liable to suffer modification 
than the concrete objects of experience; were it not, it 
would be useless for our work of comparison, but this does 
not make it a really absolute atom. An atom of hydrogen 
you and I cannot analyze; dare we therefore maintain 
that it is truly substantial, that it is an ultimate entity, 
and that all change must lie without it? We already 



260 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

tnow from science, through experimental evidence, how 
untrue this is. In short, when we say of our ultimate 
atom, no matter what it be, that it lives a life of indepen- 
dence, we mean merely that science may for the problem 
in hand ignore its lack of independence. 

Now these truths show clearlj'- how different the inter- 
est of science in interpreting and explaining changes is 
from the old cosmological interest of pluralism. Science 
here accepts changes as facts. It interprets those changes 
in terms of constants modifying their relations. This 
gives us the laws of change, or the laws of nature. It 
does not attempt to show how change arises out of ele- 
ments that do not contain change; for no matter how far 
science carries us in her analysis, we have always before 
us a world of change. The cosmological pluralist, how- 
ever, tried to show us an absolute basis for change in 
substances that were changeless. The moment we ask the 
scientist how his atoms act, react, interact, he can reply : 
" I do not care, for the question lies beyond my problem. 
I am concerned with finding what the laws of action and 
reaction are, in short, in what constant ways these atoms 
do interact." The cosmological pluralist, however, does 
not make any such confession. When we asked him, he 
was forced to explain or else give up his theory ; but ex- 
plain he could not. 

We are now able to give an answer to the question, 
What are these things into which we are always dividing 
any given portion of reality ? What do we mean by their 
existence? How can the world be ultimately a unity 
and yet seem to us made up of many separate independent 
things? Surely as we look about a room, the chairs, the 
books, the pictures, the people, are each and all individual 
things, each living a life or existence by itself, each having 
a history all its own. 
The better This is all very true and is in no way in conflict with 

the unity of the cosmos. The thingness of ordinary 



we know 



SINGULARISM 261 

objects means their relative, not their absolute, inde- things the 

pendence and self-existence. Were they absolutely in- lutimateiy 

dependent, they would surely be indestructible. Their related do 

very history shows them to be only relatively substan- come, the 

tial. They come and sjo like the waves of the sea. moreciearly 

. .... . ^re they hut 

Their unity, their individuality, is of a kind to make elements or 
them totally different from the substantial entities of "ife^aiu^"^ 
the pluralist. That the one world should be many worlds, including 
was, we found, a complete contradiction ; but that the one ^^ 
world should be many things is no contradiction. We 
mean by these things to express the differences we dis- 
cover in the world's manifestations. On the basis of 
these differences we have dissected the world ; but this 
dissection is solely for our convenience. As we look at the 
human body we learn to distinguish the arms, the hands, 
the legs, the head, the mouth. But we do not mean that a 
mouth could exist Avithout a head. Yet we are in con- 
stant danger of looking upon part of the world's story 
as the whole truth. We, bound in by all sorts of limita- 
tions, tend to exalt the part or the individual thing, and 
regard it as something quite independent of all else. We 
forget that if we truly and fully described it as it is 
at any instant, we should have to show its dependence in 
thousands and thousands of ways upon other elements of 
reality. In truth, as we shall see later, to know one 
thing fully would be to know everything. But this does 
not deny the reality of the individual thing. It simply 
shows that the " thing " is but a means of gaining a par- 
tial explanation and knowledge of the world. Did we 
know the world fully and completely, we should do 
without the division of it into things a,nd their qualities. 
The truths these divisions indicate would, of course, be 
included in the full, complete story of the world ; but the 
temporary makeshift, the thing and its qualities, might 
then be set aside for a more adequate method of descrip- 
tion. Thus we find that as we learn our world better and 



262 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But what is 
this system 
or substance 
back of all 
things ? 
It is the 
universal 
system of 
law obtain- 
ing the 
world over. 



better, the individual thing loses more and more its in- 
dependence and is found to be less and less separable 
from the rest of reality. To know anything better means 
to know more and more about its dependence upon the 
world about it. As we know life better, we know more 
and more of the relations between it and its environment ; 
we explain it and its origin more and more in terms of the 
forces acting from without. If we kept on long enough, 
we should bring in so much of reality that in the indi- 
vidual thing we should see, as Leibniz said of his monads, a 
complete reflection of the universe. We are then to look 
upon the Avoiid in its totality as a unity ; it is one sub- 
stance manifesting itself in the infinite richness and vari- 
ety of all things and their qualities. They all belong 
to it and are of its very life and being. 

But how are we to picture this universal substance 
as distinct from its manifestations? This question we 
brought up before, but we could not answer it completely 
until we had decided how many substances there are in 
the world. What do we mean b}^ the absolute perma- 
nence back of all change ? What is substance ? If we 
have to exclude the changing, or that which comes and 
goes, what is there left? Clearly the permanent laws or 
uniformities in accordance with which the changes take 
place, or, as they are technically expressed, the uniformities 
of coexistence and sequence among the changing elements. 
They are the laws of the world's manifestations. These 
laws tell us that under given conditions such and such a 
consequence will be the result; that if we heat iron, it 
will expand ; if we fall into the water, we shall get wet. 
These laws are the permanent or substantial element in 
a world of unceasing change,^ and thej^ form a complete 



1 In a recent issue of Science complaint was made against the ciistom 
of regarding natural laws as a sort of actually existing things. All this is 
right enough ; but it is wrong to go to the other extreme and regard 
them as merely intellectual conveniences. They describe facts, or elements 



SINGULAEISM 263 

unitary system. By these laws everything is united in 
closest bond with everything else. It would seem that a 
change in one part of the universe involves in it a change 
throughout. No part lives unto itself, but all are mem- 
bers one of another. The complete causal nexus that 
binds together every part and element of the universe, 
this is its substance. No element lies outside of this 
uniting bond ; and these laws of causation, as we shall 
see, form one all-including system. To this principle of 
causation we must then give our next reflective study. 

found by analyzing facts. Either they hold of reality or they are false 
and worthless. In short, they do describe one element of reality, i.e. 
its permanent element. True, they are abstractions and not the concrete 
reality ; but so are all the constructions of science. 



CHAPTER XXIX 



THE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION ^ 



No object is 
merely 
passive 
when acted 
upon ; and 
analysis of 
any given 
case of 
causation 
will reveal 
an indefinite 
complexity 
in the 
elements 
taking part. 



We have seen that the uniting principle of the world is 
the system of law that binds and unites every element 
with every other. This uniting principle we know as the 
law of universal causation. 

With the warm days of spring great transformations 
take place in nature with a rapidity that seems borrowed 
from the magic of fairyland. The grass grows green, the 
wild flower lifts its head from every little nook. The 
birds return with song and nest-building, the fruit trees 
blossom. Nature everywhere enters upon a new life. 
Whence has all this come ? Our first thought is that it is 
all due to the increased warmth of the sunshine. 



^ Parallel Reading. 

The Principles of Empirical or Inductive Logic, by John Venn, London 
and New York, 1889, Chapters II and III. 

Historical Note. 

For the History of the Problem of Causation, cf. Konig, Die Entwicke- 
lung des Causalproblems von Cartesius bis Kant, Leipzig, 1888 ; and also 
by the same writer, Die Entwickelung des Causalproblems in der Philoso- 
phic seit Kant, two pts., Leipzig, 1889-90. 

The important thing to notice in the history of the problem of cause 
is the revolution brought about by Hume. The older view of cause and 
effect (Scholastic and held to till Hume, although Leibniz had shown 
signs of the coming change of view) was that the effect can be logically 
deduced from the cause. The relation between cause and effect is thus a 
logical one. Hume annihilates this doctrine once and for all time. The 
effect is in no way like its cause. Their relation is solely one of necessary 
sequence, but this in no way involves similarity. To some extent we have 
returned to the older view, through the doctrine of the conservation of 
energy. The cause and effect are quantitatively alike ; but still quali- 
tatively no such similarity follows. 

264 



THE PEINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 265 

But why to the sunshine all the praise ? Yonder rock 
is stiff and hard as it was amid the winter snow. Has 
the heat made it live ? No. Then heat alone is not the 
only cause of spring. The sunshine only awakened a 
sleeping world, and in the forces that it has released, we 
must seek for part of the explanation of the new life. As 
we turn our eyes to the individual plant or tree, we see 
even more clearly how great is its own part in the 
change. 

As the apple tree unfolds its buds, we do not expect to 
see roses. For them we look to the rose-bush. But why ? 
The same warmth governs both the tree and the bush. 
Clearly the warmth played but a small part, even though 
a necessary part ; for the tree must have determined that 
the flower should be an apple blossom, and the bush that 
it should be a rose. But it is not merely a rose ; it is pink, 
whereas others near by are red, and others still are white. 
To explain this, we must search for other elements in the 
nature of our bush. 

Thus, look where we will in the whole realm of nature, 
we can never say that this one thing is the cause of that 
one result. The longer we search the more causes we 
shall always find to help account for the total complex 
effect. Indeed, in the last analysis, an absolutely complete 
explanation of any single event in all its concrete detail 
would involve every element in the whole universe. Then, 
too, just as we should find any individual thing indefinitely 
rich in elements, if we were able to analyze it exhaus- 
tively, so also should we have to seek this same indefinite 
complexity in its causes. 

But no one is able to hold himself down to analyze any Finite 
part of nature exhaustively. What is the consequence? no^^einf^ 
We find, in dealing with causation, that we use the same able to deal 
abstractions that we do elsewhere in our interpretation of j^g ^^ ^eai ' 
nature. No rose is known by us in all its infinite com- ^^^^ such 
plexity of shape and shading, to say nothing of its cellular 



266 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



complexity 
ignores it 
and thus 
passes from 
the concrete 
to the 
abstract 
cause and 
effect. 



The result- 
ing general- 
ities are of 
far greater 
value to us ; 
in fact, are 
necessary to 
make 
knowledge 
useful. 



But a world 
of which 
generalities 
hold must be 
a world in 
which most 
elements are 
subject to 
frequent 
repetition. 



and molecular structure. We neglect the absolutely con- 
crete, or the totality of the rose, and are satisfied to have 
a more or less general knowledge of it. So, too, in any 
given instance of causation, we do not, and cannot, con- 
sider the thousands and thousands of separate elements 
that make up the concrete total. The purposes of man 
are best fulfilled by our indefinite generalities. It is only 
here and there that we attach importance to a more accu- 
rate knowledge ; but even in such cases we only add on a 
few more differentiating elements, and let the thousands 
of others pass by ignored. 

There is reason for this ; for if we treated every indi- 
\ddual cause and effect in the totality of its complex de- 
tail, what would be the result? We never see two fires 
that are exactly alike ; and if instead of knowing in a 
general way that fire burns, we should only know that 
this particular highly differentiated form of fire burns in 
this particular highly differentiated way ; we should never 
protect ourselves against fire, but only against a particular 
form of fire that was never again to occur. Our informa- 
tion would be clearly useless. The absolutely concrete 
individual case gives us no knowledge that is of any 
value, unless somehow it enables us to deal thereafter 
more fittingly with other cases that are somewhat differ- 
ent from it. 

But let us see what a tremendous inference is involved 
here concerning the world as a whole. If everything that 
happened never repeated itself in any similar way again ; 
if we lived in a world whose changes from moment to mo- 
ment were so vastly great that even our highest generaliza- 
tions would become useless because no more events happened 
to which they applied ; then, indeed, we should be just as 
badly off as though we never collected general information 
and lived a life devoted only to the individual in all its 
concrete complexity. Thus the principle of causation that 
we actually use, assumes not only that definite laws exist. 



THE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 267 

but also that substantially similar situations are frequently- 
repeated. We may call this latter assumption, if we 
please, the law of repetition. 

At this point still another problem arises. The world But this in 
is uniform in its occurrences, that means it is not from l^J^^^^^ 
moment to moment absolutely different. Have we any that a com- 
reason to believe that the world never repeats itself, that titlon'^ever 
there is no moment in its history in which it is absolutely ^^^^^ p^^°® '■ 
the same as at any other moment? 

Of course, we have, to begin with, the tremendous im- neither the 
probability of any such state of affairs. As a matter of q^^J^^'^'^^'^® 
probability, there would be only one chance out of an 
infinite number for the changing world in all its infinite 
complexity to repeat itself. But still the world lasts a 
long time, and why may we not suppose that after enor- 
mous lapses of time it starts over again on the old career ? 
Of course, if it does this once it will do it repeatedly ; for 
by the law of causation the same conditions give the same 
results. Hence, if one such state leads to its own repeti- 
tion after a given period, it will always continue to do so. 
Why, then, may not the course of the world be cyclical? 
Have we any rational right to say that it is not ? We have, 
for such a supposition is absurd. How so ? Let us call 
any two such similar periods of the world's history, A and 
JB. Now, by hypothesis, A and B are absolutely alike ex- 
cept in the time of their occurrence. But how, we ask at 
once, are we to distinguish the two periods from each 
other, or from any other of the infinite number of similar 
periods. B has no characteristic, not even its place in 
the series, by which it can be distinguished from the 
others. But you say, in absolute time they are different. 
Yes, but we have shown that time relations are relative, 
never absolute. Therefore, by the very hypothesis, A and 
B are absolutely alike in every respect. A and B are there- 
fore one and the same, which contradicts the hypothesis. 

Moreover, would it not be possible to bring up the fol- 



268 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

lowing argument ? ^ Any such supposition would give us 
not two similar periods of the world's course, but two dis- 
tinct worlds. We, in one period, would be absolutely cut 
off from the others, for how could we know them to exist ? 
Did we know them to exist, our knowledge itself would 
by hypothesis be merely a repetition of the same knowl- 
edge possessed by a man just like us in the previous 
period. Hence, though the world itself kept moving for- 
ward, a knowledge of it could in no way progress. But 
this is nonsense. In short, parts of the future and of the 
past would be cut off from our knowledge in the same 
way that they would be if they were totally and abso- 
lutely distinct worlds. We have here two problems that 
deserve further thought before they are finally answered. 
Might two worlds exist, or can there be but the one world ? 
Can we assume the existence of a world that as such is 
absolutely unknowable? These problems we must leave 
till later on. But so much at least we can say now, any 
evidence of such a cyclical world course would be an im- 
possibility. Did it occur, we should remain absolutely 
ignorant of it. It would be something of which we could 
take no account whatsoever. 
nor in any But, we may be asked, may not some individual things 

f ^'^it'^ m'be °^ events repeat themselves, even though the whole course 
found that of the world cannot ? To this question likewise we have 
causal ° ^ ^^ answer, no ; but before giving our reason for this reply, 
system is we must consider one other truth concerning causation, 
voived in This truth is the following : We may assume that 

any given ^he objects within some given area of the world are not 
causation, affected for the time being by objects without that area, 
no matter Thus we might assume that our solar system is leadino' a 

how limited , _ " -^ , _ " 

its area may life independent of the other heavenly bodies. But if we 
^®' did make such an assumption, we should still have to main- 

tain that farther back in the history of the system its inde- 

1 From the point of view of the epistemology taught in this book, such 
an argument would certainly hold. 



THE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 269 

pendent life came to an end, and so that the objects outside 
once upon a time exerted an influence within our hypo- 
thetical area. If this were not true, in other words, if any 
part of the world could lead a life of complete indepen- 
dence of all other parts, then pluralism would be true. But 
when we rejected pluralism, we rejected by implication the 
possibility of any such independent entity or system of 
entities. 

But there is a further implication. As we go back far- 
ther and farther in the history of our hypothetical system, 
not only should we come upon the influence of outside 
systems, but we should also have to assume that what was 
true of our original system is true of these other systems 
too. In short, as we go back in the history of any man, 
and find a greater and greater number of progenitors in 
each preceding generation, so likewise in the history of 
any system do we find an increasing number of other sys- 
tems influencing it directly or indirectly, as we go farther 
and farther into the past. 

Surely, the farther backward or forward we travelled, the 
greater the portion of the universe we should find involved 
in our causal series. Of course such a regression would 
bring us to infinity if we could only keep on for an infi- 
nite time. However, as we cannot do this, we have no 
right to conclude that the infinite world is sooner or later 
involved in any given example of causation. Still, this 
thought does make us turn back to the theory of singular- 
ism, and inquire whether or not, just as we found it false 
to treat any part of the world as an independent entity by 
itself, in short, to divide the world's substance, whether or 
not in the same way it is not false to look upon any causal 
series ultimately as disconnected from the remainder of 
the universe. Are we not to conclude that the world of 
causation is a unity, and that no part of it can be separated 
absolutely from the rest ; but that absolutely every event 
in the world is interlocked causally with every other? 



270 



INTRODUCTION TO I'HILOSOrilY 



In short, 
there is 
never in the 
concrete 
reality a 
complete 
repetition. 



Clearly, we must hold this doctrine or else give up our 
singularism ; for as we have seen, if we grant, no matter 
how short the period, an absolute independence to any part 
of the world, we can never regain its dependence ? It is 
just as much a contradiction of singularism to have a thing 
independent of the whole for a millionth of a second as it 
would be to have it so for eternity. It would have become 
a world by itself, and all the power of the remainder of 
reality could not subdue it again to a state of dependence. 

Still all this is a statement of a dogma rather than a proof 
of its truth. But really we have a^lready given the proof. 
We have seen that it is absurd to believe in any complete 
repetition in the course of the world's process, because such 
a repetition would split the universe up into systems from 
within which the remainder of the universe would be 
unknowable. Likewise, did we suppose any limited causal 
system to be independent of the remainder of the world, 
it could be fully explained by itself, that is, even though 
we ignored the rest of reality. Did we live in such a part 
of the universe we should be causally cut off from the 
remainder, and that remainder would then be unknowable. 
We could not perceive it, for it could not stimulate our 
organs of sense ; nor could we detect it by any indirect 
means, that is, by any effect it produced in the things 
which we do perceive. In short, we should be again split- 
ting the universe up into independent worlds, but the 
theory of knowledge will show us that this is not permis- 
sible. Hence we must conclude that no part of the uni- 
verse can be treated as a causal system absolutely by itself. 

Now what bearing has this truth upon the question 
whether or not any part of the world's course can repeat 
itself absolutely? Clearly, if all the world as a causal 
system is involved in any part of that system, an absolute 
likeness in one part presupposes a universal likeness. For 
should there be anywhere a difference in the universal 
causal system, that difference would, according to our 



TELE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 271 

premises, involve a difference in the part in question, since 
that difference must make itself felt throughout reality. 
Hence, vice versa^ an absolute likeness or a lack of differ- 
ence in any part must involve a likeness throughout 
reality. But such a periodic return to an absolutely simi- 
lar universal state we have already disproved ; therefore 
we must now conclude that what is true in this respect of 
the whole of reality is likewise true of each part. 

There remains one further problem related to the gen- A further 
eral problem of causation. We may state it briefly as does not 
follows. The usual statement of the principle of causa- only every 
tion is : Under the same conditions the same thing always its one 
happens, or, given the cause, the effect will follow. Our definite 
new problem asks whether or not we can reverse the order also every 
in this proposition, in short, whether or not we may say, e^ectitsone 
given the effect, we can determine what was the cause, or cause, i.e. 
everything happens always under the same conditions ? causal law 
Has every effect the same cause? 

Ordinarily this question has been answered in the nega- read back- 
tive, and we all remember how we were taught in our for- ^^jj ^^ 
mal logic that it was a fallacy in hypothetical reasoning forward? 
to affirm the consequent and thereby prove the antecedent, logic seems 
Thus let it be granted that if a is J, then c is d. In short, *o ^*y °" ! 
if the condition of c being d is that a be 6 ; then if we 
grant that a is 5, we must admit also that c is d. On the 
other hand, it does not follow that when we find the con- 
sequent or the effect, c is c?, that this particular condition, 
a is J, is true ; for perhaps there are other conditions 
when c will be d. If we put ice next to a hot fire, it 
will melt ; but ice melts also when we put it in the warm 
sunshine. Hence if we learn that the ice has melted, we 
have no right to conclude whether or not the fire, the sun- 
shine, or some other condition was the cause. 

But does this rule of logic really dispute our proposition 
that an effect has always the same cause ? No ; for what 
we mean by a cause does not include many accompanying 



272 



INTRODUCTION TO THILOSOPHY 



but it does 
follow if 
cause and 
effect be 
stated with 
complete 
accuracy. 



The justi- 
fication of 
this con- 
clusion : 

(a) other- 
wise some 
element in 
our cause 
would be 
causeless, 

(b) other- 
wise the 
past would 
be un- 
knowable. 



circumstances that play no part. Clearl}^ in the example 
it was the heat that melted the ice in both cases, and the 
rest was a mere circumstance. Logic has to take into 
consideration the inaccuracy of stating our hypothetical 
propositions. Whenever we say given a, h will follow, 
all we mean is, that a includes the cause of h. Of course, 
it may include thousands of other non-essential facts. 
Ordinarily, if you heat ice above a given temperature it 
will melt, no matter how you do the heating. But we 
can readily put this same truth in a less exact way and 
assert that if you put ice near a hot fire, it will melt. 

When we maintain that any effect has always the same 
cause, we mean by " cause " the exact cause robbed of all 
superfluous circumstances. In short, we maintain that it 
does follow, in our first example, that a is 5 if <? is c?, pro- 
vided that a being b is the cause considered apart from all 
non-essential elements. It is quite true that you and I may 
never in any given case discover with surety just what are 
the essential or the non-essential elements. Therefore in 
all cases of practical reasoning we have to keep to the rule 
logic has formulated. But, as philosophers, we are con- 
cerned with principles. 1 

If the effect is the same in two cases of causation in 
which the causes are different, then some element or ele- 
ments of these causes, namely, those wherein they differ, 
might be without effect. To put it otherwise, can a and h 

1 Their application may give all sorts of trouble, but that is not our 
concern. In fact, this same liability to inaccuracy exists in determining 
tlie true consequent in a hypothetical proposition. Do you and I ever 
state exhaustively what does follow if a is 6 ? Clearly, thousands of other 
things besides c being d may follow. The reason why this gives us no 
trouble in arguing is that we have made a being b so inclusive that no 
matter what else may follow, c being d will be contained in the consequent. 
But our philosophical principle should not have this (quite practical) 
indefiniteness. It must be exact. Hence, as we say that given the cause, 
the effect in its complete fulness follows ; so also do we now maintain 
that, given the effect, there will have preceded not only the exact cause, 
but always the same exact cause. 



THE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 273 

both give rise to c? No, they cannot, because we should 
never rightly regard our analysis of the case as final, first, 
until we had found in a and b some common element and 
ascribed to it the authorship of c; and, secondly, until we 
had found some elements in the result of a different from 
•the result of b. We could never rest with the statement, 
a and b both cause c. It would always remain a problem 
to find the unknown similarity between what seemed to 
be different cases. (This is the same principle that forms 
the philosophical basis of the atomic theory.) No solu- 
tion of a problem of causation can rest complete until we 
have reduced the laws of nature to terms that call for no 
further analysis. But a deeper (an epistemological) justi- 
fication can be found, in fact is really presupposed, in the 
foregoing argument. When given any event, we try to 
discover its effect ; likewise when given an effect, we 
search for some event, its cause. Were it not true that 
the same cause has ever the same effect, we should never 
be able to predict the effect ; and likewise were it not true 
that the same effect has the same cause, we should not be 
able to determine what had been the cause. That is, just 
as the principle by which we know the future asserts that 
causes have always the same effects ; so also does the prin- 
ciple by which we know the past assert that effects have 
always the same causes. In short, the principle of causa- 
tion reads both ways. Under the same conditions the 
same result follows, and the same result follows only 
under the same conditions. 



CHAPTER XXX 



THE CAUSAL RELATION BETWEEN MIND AND BODY ^ 



The two 
theories of 
Interaction 
and 
Parallelism. 



Having formulated the principles of causation, we turn 
to the more specific problem of the causal relation be- 
tween the two great classes of things, — minds and bodies. 
On coming to our new field of reflection, we find two rival 
theories already there disputing the mastery. The one 
theory, that of interaction, maintains that mind and body 
are causally related, that body acts on mind, and mind on 
body. The other theory, that of parallelism, claims that 
mind does not act on body or body on mind, but that both 
lead a life of uniform coexistence. The mind changes in 
accordance with the changes of the body, and the body in 
accordance with the changes of the mind. But both series 
of changes, the mental and the bodily, are ultimately inde- 
pendent the one of the other. They simply run along in 
parallel uniformity. 

Professor Paulsen, a leading advocate of parallelism, 
states its argument as follows : — 

"Two forms of the relation between physical and 
psychical occurrences are conceivable after we have 
excluded the relation of identity. We can have either a 
causal relation or a relation of mere coexistence in time. 

" We must first elucidate the two conceptions. Let us 

1 Parallel Beading. 

The student should not fail to read Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 83-91. 
Cf . also Stout, Manual of Psychology, Chapter III, Sections 3, 4, and 5 ; 
Ebbinghaus, Grundziige der Psychologie, Leipzig, 1902, Section 4. 

Against Parallelism, cf. Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism, Lectures 
XI, XII, and XIII. Also Spaulding, Beitrage zur Kritik des psycho- 
physischen Parallelismus vom Standpunkte der Energetik. Halle, 1900. 

274 



THE CAUSAL RELATION BETWEEN MIND AND BODY 275 

imagine with Leibniz the skull of an animal or man to be 
as large as a mill. Suppose one could walk around in it 
and observe the processes in the brain as one can observe 
the movements of the machinery and the cogging of the 
wheels in the mill. What brain-processes would the ob- 
.server expect to see according to each of the two theories ? 

" The adherent of the parallelistic theory must evidently 
expect the following. The physical processes in the brain 
form a closed causal nexus. One would see as little of 
psychical processes, of ideas and thoughts, as in the move- 
ments of the mill. A man crosses the street. Suddenly 
his name is called ; he turns around and walks toward the 
person who called him. The omniscient physiologist 
would explain the whole process in a purely mechanical 
way. He would show how the physical effect of the 
sound-waves upon the organ of hearing excited a definite 
nervous process in the auditory nerve, how this process 
was conducted to the central organ, how it released certain 
physical processes there which finally led to the innervation 
of certain groups of motor nerves, the ultimate result of 
which was the turning and movement of the body in the 
direction of the sound-waves. All these occurrences 
together combine into an unbroken chain of physical pro- 
cesses. Alongside of this, another process occurred of 
which the physiologist as such sees nothing and needs to 
know nothing, with which, however, he is acquainted as 
a thinking being who interprets his percepts ; there are 
auditory sensations which aroused ideas and feelings. 
The person called heard his name ; he turned around in 
order to discover who called him and why he was addressed ; 
he perceived an old acquaintance and went to greet him. 
These occurrences accompany the physical series without 
interfering with it ; perception and presentation are not 
members of the physical causal series. 

" The case would be different if the theory of interaction 
were correct. The adherent of this theory must expect 



276 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

the physical process to be interrupted at certain points — 
at such, namely, at which psychical occurrences enter as 
members of the causal series. If nervous movement is the 
cause of the sensation, it must vanish as such, and, in its 
place, sensation must appear. The motion of the ball a 
has as its effect the motion of the ball 6, that is, the first 
motion disappears, and in its stead there appears an equal 
definite motion of the second ball. A motion produces 
heat, that is, the motion vanishes, and in its stead there 
appears a definite amount of heat. The same would have 
to happen in our case : instead of a lost movement there 
would appear a sensation, or an idea of definite intensit}^ 
and quality, as its equivalent. The idea is not, however, 
an object of external observation; ideas and feelings can- 
not be seen as such or be discovered by the methods of 
natural science at all. For the physicist there would then 
be a break in the causal chain; a link would be wanting 
from the physical series. Should our materialistic philoso- 
pher refuse to grant this, holding that the idea in turn is 
also something physical, some form or other of motion, he 
would thereby, of course, prove untrue to his hypothesis 
and go over to the parallelistic theory. For, if he were 
right, the natural scientist would, of course, be concerned 
only with the physical, and could ignore the fact that the 
process has as its concomitant a state of consciousness. 
The physical effect and not the sensation as such would 
then be the equivalent and effect of the physical cause. 
" These are the two possible conceptions. Which of 
them is true? 
Thedoctrine " This question, being a question of facts, can be decided 

of inter- only bv experience. In themselves, both views are con- 
action J J sr 

conflicts ceivable. Has experience settled the matter? I think no 
with that of -jl claim that final observations have been made by 

the conser- -J 

ration of en- which either one of these conceptions would exclude the 
must hT^^ other. Perhaps they will never be made. Observations 
rejected. and experiments are powerless in the presence of these 



THE CAUSAL RELATION BETWEEN MIND AND BODY 277 

unapproachable and most complicated processes of organic 
life. 

"Nevertheless, the natural scientist will not long be in 
doubt as to which notion to choose. He will say that the 
analogy of combined experience leads him to assume a 
continuity of physical processes even in this case. He 
would regard it as a presumptuous and impracticable 
demand to assume that motion is transformed, not into 
another form of motion, not into potential physical energy, 
but into something that does not exist at all physically. 
Transformation of motion or force into thought, into pure 
states of consciousness, would for the natural scientific 
view be nothing but the destruction of energy. Similarly, 
the origination of motion from a purely mental element, 
for example, from the idea of a wish, would in physics be 
equivalent to creation out of nothing. Consequently he 
would be forced to accept the parallelistic theory instead of 
the other which assumes a causal relation." ^ 

The dispute between these two parties amounts, ulti- But what is 
matelv, to a question of fact. If we take some external ultimately 

^ , . . . the point at 

stimulus a, does it result in a brain (or better, physical) issue ? 
state b and a mental state B, or does it result only in ^ ? Jj^ of*^fact 
State b, of course, by hypothesis is the full physical effect not one of 
of a in accordance with the laws of physical conservation. 
Now according to the interactionists, brain state b does 
not occur, but only mental state B, whereas the parallelists 
maintain that both b and B result. 

Our problem is to settle this question. But first let us Mind and 
mark its bearing on the general law of causation. Clearly, f^ug^u"^^ 
no matter which party is right, there is a causal relation related, 
between a and B ; for both maintain a necessary uni- 
formity of coexistence and sequence between the two 
worlds of mind and matter, and this is all we mean by 
causation. Neither party then denies the ultimate unity 
of the universal system of causation. If they did, clearly 
^ Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 85-86. 



278 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But the 
parallelist 
is right 
about the 
facts. 
There are 
the parallel 
facts whose 
existence is 
asserted by 
his theory. 



Conclusion. 



we should have two worlds — not two worlds in the popu- 
lar sense, but two absolute worlds in the philosophical 
sense. Then again, the uniformity that is granted by 
both parties to obtain between the two worlds would 
need explanation. The only conceivable explanation, as 
we have seen in contending against pluralism, is to grant 
the ultimate unity of the two worlds. In short, the dual- 
ism between mind and matter is not a dualism of sub- 
stance, namely, a pluralism. The same infinite eternal 
substance manifests itself in both orders of being, and 
determines their character. Both follow necessarily as 
consequents of the previous states in which substance has 
manifested itself ; and further, since the world at large is 
involved in every act of causation, the body is as funda- 
mentally in causal relation with the mind and the mind 
with the body as are any two bodies with each other. 
Neither party need dispute this proposition ; and if they 
did, we should have to refer them to the earlier problems 
that we have brought up and attempted to solve. 

Thus we maintain against both schools that they should 
not state their problem as they do. Let the problem be 
stated not as one of causation, but as a problem ques- 
tioning the existence of a fact, as we have symbolized it, 
the existence of h. Does h exist, is it a fact? Yes, the 
parallelist is in the right if we believe in the conservation of 
motion, and in the dualistic view that mind is non-spatial. 
The quantity of motion cannot alter, and hence the 
result of a does not involve a loss of motion. If this 
motion be not in the brain, then it must be elsewhere ; and 
that would mean that the brain is not the only physical 
organ directly connected with our mental life. 

Thus the problem should be decided rather in favor of 
both. The relation between mind and body is causal, but 
there is also that physical effect claimed by the parallelist. 
This view gives the physiologist all he need desire in the 
theory of parallelism. The presence of brain event 5, 



THE CAUSAL RELATION BETWEEN MIND AND BODY 279 

coexisting with B^ and being the full mechanical equiva- 
lent of a enables him to adopt the automaton theory of 
nervous action. From beginning to end he may still ex- 
plain nervous action mechanically. 

Yet, on the other hand, the mental state B is to the 
psychologist the effect of a. There is no other fact re- 
vealed to him to which he can refer as the cause of -B, 
and there is no reason why he should cease to do so. 
In short, the stimulus a has as its effect a twofold events 
a brain state h and a mental state B. h is the mechanical 
equivalent of a, and forms the physical event coexisting with 
B. Thus h and B are truly parallel or coexisting events. 



CHAPTER XXXI 



PANPSYCHISM 



Oar new 
problem : 
Does a 
mental life 
exist not 
only 
parallel 
to brain 
activity but 
also 

parallel to 
all physical 
activity ? 



In accordance with the foregoing chapter, we must as- 
sume that mental life exists parallel to certain of our brain 
states. The one infinite substance in its eternal course of 
manifestations reveals itself at this point in a twofold way, 
as mind and as body. But why at this point only ? Why 
does substance manifest itself as mind only in connection 
with certain molecular activities (if such they be) in 
things called brains? " Why?" do you ask? Who said 
so or dare say so ? You and I know that a mental life 
exists in connection with our bodies ; and as we have 
seen, by analogy we believe that a similar life exists in 
connection with the bodies of our fellow-men and the 
higher animals. " By analogy," we say, because the only 
evidence is the likeness of their bodies and of their actions 
to our own. But mark well, such conclusions are positive, 
not negative. They tell us consciousness exists in connec- 
tion with the bodies of these fellow-men and animals. 
They do not tell us that consciousness exists nowhere 
else. That question must be left open, or we have 
exceeded the limits of our evidence. 

If, then, our conclusion that mental life is a manifesta- 
tion parallel to certain physical events leaves it an open 
question whether or not consciousness exists elsewhere ; 
what shall we say in reply to the new question, — Do mental 
states exist even where we have no very definite outward 
evidence? Does mental life exist not merely in connec- 
tion with these particular physical events called brain 

280 



PANPSYCHISM 



281 



states, but does it exist in connection with all the physical 
world ? 

The affirmative answer to this question is called Pan- 
psi/chism. We can do no better than to listen to the 
words of one of its most eloquent and able advocates, Pro- 
fessor Paulsen. After defending the parallelistic theory, 
he proceeds with his argument by drawing panpsychism as 
the logical conclusion.^ 

" First of all, let us consider the guiding principle. The Argu- 
How can we at all decide as to the presence of psychical p^^lf^r 
processes? The answer is self-evident. We become cMsm. 
immediately aware of our existence only at one point, 
namely, in our self-consciousness. I can never know 
through immediate observation that, besides the sensations, 
ideas, and volitions which I experience in myself, similar 
processes occur in the world. What my neighbor feels it is 
and thinks, I do not know by observation, but by infer- nmitmentai 
ence ; all that I see is a physical phenomenon. I 
movements and gestures, hear sounds which proceed from 
a body like mine, but I see no feelings and ideas ; and no 
microscope or telescope can help me to see them. The 
feelings and ideas I add in thought by inferring from the 
analogy of the bodily processes which I see, the existence 
of analogous mental processes, which I do not see. 

" How far may this inference be extended ? The popu- 
lar view answers, as was said before, — As far as animal life 
extends. Animals are animated beings ; all other objects 
— metals, stones, plants — are not animated ; they are mere 
bodies. At the most, plants might possibly be considered as 
having souls, but not seriously. The plant-soul is a dream 
of childish fancy. 



see life to 
animals 



1 The student should not fail to read the whole of this section from 
which I am about to quote. Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 87-110. 

This universal parallelism has been taught especially by two other 
philosophers, — Spinoza and Fechner. (Cf. Paulsen's text and foot- 
notes.) Cf. also Fechner, Ueber die Seelenfrage, Leipzig, 1861. 



282 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

" This view claims to be the self-evident and only pos- 
sible view, but I am inclined to think that its assurance 
exceeds the force of its arguments. Indeed, it is purely 
arbitrary, 
for there is " In the first place, how far does the animal world 
boundary extend? Is it Separated by a fixed boundary from the 
between rest of the corporeal world, particularly from the vegetable 

animals and i • i o <^ • • j.i • tj. j- • i 

plants, both kingdom ! Common opinion presupposes this, it divides 
kingdoms the copporeal world into three distinct kingdoms, in ac- 

are continu- , • ^ ^ -, ^ ^ • --i 

ous: cordance with old scholastic concepts — into animal, vege- 

table, and mineral kingdoms. But modern biology has 
obliterated these fixed lines ; here, too, it is confronted 
with the proposition that nature makes no leaps. Though 
the animal and vegetable kingdoms differ greatly, they 
approach each other very closely on the lower stages of 
development. There are numerous lower forms of life 
which have the characteristics neither of true animals nor 
of true plants. A separate group, the group of the protista, 
has been formed for them, an intermediate kingdom in 
which plant and animal meet. If there is no fixed boun- 
dary line between the animal and vegetable worlds, if we 
are obliged to regard them as two branches grown on one 
stem, the question is forced on us, — Are plants also bearers 
of psychical life ? Everybody concedes an inner life to 
animals, even to the lowest forms, however far removed 
they may be from the higher forms. We cannot, without 
being arbitrary, refuse to admit that the protista, the plant- 
animals or animal-plants in which the animal world gradu- 
ally vanishes, also have an inner life. Hence the inference 
is obvious : Just as there is no fixed line of demarcation 
between the animal and the plant worlds, so there is no 
fixed limit to psychical life. Soul-life may extend over 
the entire organic world. . . . 

" The further question arises at the conclusion of this 
discussion : Have we reached the end, is the parallelism 
between physical and psychical processes limited to the 



PANPSYCHISM 283 

organic world ? Or is there any meaning in the statement 
of the philosophers mentioned before, that it holds univer- 
sally ; that wherever physical processes are given they 
point to an inner being? 

" Let me suggest a few facts which may at least show and like- 
that the question is not as absurd as at first sigfht it seems ^^^®*^® . 

^ t> organic and 

to popular thought. The organic and inorganic bodies inorganic 
form, not two separate worlds, but a unitary whole in con- jj^^. essen- 
stant interaction. There is no difference in substance ; tidily t^o- 
organic bodies are composed of the same ingredients of becomes the 
which inorganic bodies consist. The carbon, nitrogen, ot^^er. 
hydrogen, and oxygen of which a plant or animal body 
consists are identical with the substances found in inor- 
ganic constructions. Matter, therefore, is capable of or- 
ganization, and this organization is a state of unstable 
equilibrium, in which the particles of matter continually 
change, the form remaining the same. Organic bodies 
constantly give off and take up matter. After a certain 
space of time, a complete change of matter has taken 
place ; new elements now appear as the bearers of organic 
and psychical life. — Furthermore, new animal and plant 
bodies are constantly arising. A few handfuls of grain 
placed in the earth yield a bushel of wheat ; a pair of 
mice left alone with the wheat soon change it into hun- 
dreds of living and feeling animal bodies with souls. 
Whence came these souls ? Did they preexist some- 
where, and did they suddenly pass into the bodies pre- 
pared for them ? Or, if this conception repels the natural 
scientist, did they arise by the division of the parent soul ? 
What a strange and unintelligible notion ! 

" And how did soul-life originate to begin with ? The higher 
Modern biology is forced to the assumption that organic ''■"^^^^ i^^® 

oj r- o ^ arose 

life had a beginning on earth, and that the first creations ultimately 

arose from inorganic matter, spontaneously, through j^i^or^anic 

parentless generation. Whence did psychical life arise? matter; 
Is the first feeling in the first protoplasmic particle some- 



284 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

not then say thing absolutel}'' new, something that did not exist before 
caihfeaiso ^^ ^^^ form, of which not the slightest trace was to be 
arose out of found before? That, of course, would be an absolute ' world- 
po^sTe^s^ed riddle ' ; it would mean a creation out of nothing, and 
by the would baffle the natural scientist as much as if he were 

inors^diDic ? 

expected to believe that the protoplasmic particle itself 
was created out of nothing. But why does he not reject 
the inconceivable in the former case just as he does in the 
latter? He assumes that organic bodies arise from pre- 
existing elements. Entering into new and more compli- 
cated combinations, these bodies are enabled to perform 
new and astonishing functions. Why does he not make 
the same natural assumption in this case as well, and say 
that an inner life was already present in germ in the ele- 
ments, and that it developed into higher forms ? Indeed, 
hylozoism is a conception which almost irresistibly forces 
itself upon modern biology. ... 
Further, the " Still, the objection is urged : Is it not inconceivable 
th^^Tcene of ^^^^ lifeless, rigid matter should be the bearer of psychical 
constant life? And is not the very condition absent here, from 
taneous°" which alone our previous discussion inferred an inner 
activity ; we life, namely, an analogy between physical processes and 
call it dead those of our own body ? Do we not miss here all spon- 
matter. taneous activity, all activity coming from within ? 

" It seems to me that we are ourselves responsible for 
this inconceivability, because we have formed an arbitrary 
conception of matter. Having once defined matter as an 
aggregate of atoms, of absolutely hard and rigid little 
blocks that are moved without being determined from 
within, by pressure and impact only, we naturally find it 
inconceivable that matter should be determined from 
within and should move by inner impulses. But what 
compels us to form such a concept? Surely not the 
facts. . . . 

" Spontaneous activity everywhere I Your inert, rigid 
matter, movable only by impact, is a phantom that owes 



PANPSYCHISM 285 

its existence, not to observation, but to conceptual 
speculation. . . . 

" Hundreds and thousands of atoms are united in the 
molecule into a system that preserves a more or less stable 
equilibrium by the mutual interaction of its parts, and at 
the same time is quickened by other movements — by such 
as are felt by us as light and heat, and others, vrhich 
appear in electrical processes. And this system, in turn, 
is in constant interaction with its immediate surroundings 
as well as with the remotest system of fixed stars. Is it 
then absurd to ask whether we have, corresponding to 
this wonderful play of physical forces and movements, a 
system of inner processes, analogous to that which accom- 
panies the working of the parts in the organic body ? 
May not attraction and repulsion, of which physics and 
chemistry speak, be more than mere words ; is there not 
an element of truth in the speculation of old Empedocles 
that love and hate form the motive forces in all things ? 
Certainly not love and hatred as men and animals expe- 
rience them, but something at bottom similar to their feel- 
ings, an impulsive action of some kind. . . . 

" I shall touch upon another point in this place, and May we not 
shall approach it from another side later on. Is there a *^i^j.^er Hfe 
higher, more comprehensive psychical life than that which thaa our 
we experience, just as there is a lower one? Our body orourearth* 
embraces the cells as elementary organisms. We assume of our solar 
that in the same way our psychical life embraces the systems? 
inner life of the elementary forms, embracing in it their 
conscious and unconscious elements. Our body again is 
itself part of a higher unity, a member of the total life of 
our planet, and together with the latter, articulated with 
a more comprehensive cosmical system, and ultimately 
articulated with the All. Is our psychical life also artic- 
ulated with a higher unity, a more comprehensive system 
of consciousness ? Are the separate heavenly bodies, to 
start with, bearers of a unified inner life ? Are the stars. 



286 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

is the earth an animated being? The poets speak of the 
earth-spirit; is that more than a poetic metaphor? The 
Greek philosophers, among them Plato and Aristotle, 
speak of astral spirits ; is that more than the last reflection 
of a dream of childish fancy ? 

" It would be presumptuous foolishness to treat of these 
subjects in dogmatic definitions and arguments. Still, it 
seems to me, a negative dogmatism is equally out of place. 
To him who knows the earth solely from his globe as a 
pasteboard sphere, or from his book as a huge lump with 
a fiery, liquid interior and a thin rigid crust, — to him, of 
course, the question itself will seem ridiculous and absurd. 
On the other hand, he who lives in the real world himself, 
will not, if he is at all endowed with a little imagination, 
find it so difficult to conceive the world as a large ani- 
mated being. Fechner's whole soul is given to that 
thought. With ever changing expressions he urges his 
contemporaries, at last to awake from their sleep and to 
contemplate objects with a clear eye. Does not the earth 
really live a universal life ? Are not all its parts, the 
liquid interior and the firm crust, the ocean and the atmos- 
phere, comprehended into a great whole whose parts in- 
teract in manifold ways and yet in harmony? Ebb and 
flow, day and night, summer and winter, are they not 
life-rhythms, similar to those which the individual life 
experiences, or rather, do not animals and plants with 
their little rhythmical vital processes take part in the 
great life of the earth ? Is not the life of the earth mir- 
rored in their sleep and waking, their bloom and wither- 
ing, their origin and decay? Forsooth, the earth is not 
merely a point of support, on which living beings, like 
grains on the barn-floor, accidentally meet each other, but 
the womb from which they proceed. The animal and 
plant worlds are products of the earth, they remain mem- 
bers and organs of its life as much as cells are members 
and organs of the body. The geologist interprets the 



PANPSYcmsM 287 

history of the earth from the traces of the organic beings 
which it produced in every epoch ; the geographer de- 
scribes the earth by means of the most characteristic liv- 
ing forms in every zone. These determine the impression 
whicli the earth makes on the mind, and in a considerable 
measure also determine its very shape. Their life is a 
partial process of the total life ; matter runs in a contin- 
uous stream through the organic bodies. Why should 
not the being which produces all living and animated 
beings and harbors them as parts of its life, itself be alive 
and animated ? " ^ 

What reply shall we make to this forceful argument? Criticism, 
There is only one part that excites our doubt. Must we %an^^^ . 
suppose that there is such a complete analogy between the cMst-Argu- 
ultimate physical concomitant of our mental life and all ^^'''^' 
physical action that what is true of the former is true also 
of the latter ? At first sight it certainly seems so. Of True, we 
course we do not know just what type of physical event ^meanai-* 
this ultimate concomitant is. But let it be what it may ; ogy between 
we are forced to assume that it is a motion of some body, things ; 
In short, all physical activity, we must believe, is analogous 
ultimately to all other, that is, in so far as it is merely 
physical. Therefore, let brain activity, or whatever else it 
may be, be what it will ; it is analogous in its purely physi- 
cal properties to all other physical events. Hence there 
is bound to be the ultimate analogy for which we search. 

Now if the two phenomena are really and essentially 
analogous, we must draw the panpsychist's conclusion. 
But what is an essential analogy ? What constitutes an but what 

1 £ 1-1 1 'ixi. -li constitutes 

analogy from which we have a right to ascribe to one a valid 
object characteristics revealed to us in an analogous object ? argument 

-r-y • I ^ ^ , . ■, from a7ial- 

Hissentiai analogy can mean but one thing, or the argument ogy? 
is thoroughly fallacious ; and that one thing is, complete 
similarity/ in that element which is causally related to the 
characteristic in question. 

1 Paulsen, Introduction to Philosophy, pp. 94-108. 



288 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Any anal- 
ogy will not 
do. The 
analogous 
property 
must be 
necessarily 
related to 
the property 
at issue. 



We must 
leave Pan- 
psychism an 
open 
question. 



b is like a, a is x, therefore b is x. Not a bit of it ! First 
you must show us wherein b is like a. This pole is like 
this man, this man walks, therefore this pole walks. No, 
indeed. The man and the pole are alike in being six- 
footers, but this common characteristic has naught to do 
with walking. In short, for the argument from analogy 
to be valid, we must show that the common characteristics 
are causally related to the predicate we wish to assert in 
our conclusion.! If x is true of b because it is true of a, 
this must be so because x is necessarily connected Avith 
that element of a which is common to both a and b. 

To apply this conclusion to panpsj-chism, the whole 
problem must rest upon our being able to prove that con- 
sciousness is necessarily connected with that element of 
brain-activity which is common to all physical manifesta- 
tions. Is this true ; can we show it to be so ? We certainly 
cannot. No doubt the physical concomitant to mental 
events is in some of its aspects similar to all types of 
physical action, but this does not prove it to be similar in 
those aspects which are essential to it as a concomitant 
of mental events. Using the same argument we might j^rove 
that everything on earth is blue ! No doubt there is an 
analogy between all objects blue and not blue ; but they 
are not necessarily analogous in the essential element in 
question. 

In short, all that panpsychism has ever proved is that 
we have no information that enables us to draw the line 
between those physical manifestations accompanied by 
consciousness and those not so accompanied. There is no 
definite break between our human brain and its activities 
and any physical event you may wish to name. The 



^ In other words, there is no ultimate class of argument, "argument 
from analogy." This argument to be valid must go back to identity, h 
is like a must mean b has property p, and a is x must mean a is x 
because it has property p. In short, the real argument is : & is p, p is x, 
therefore h is x. 



PANPSYCHISM 289 

braiu in its origin has developed out of cosmic dust, if you 
will, and has done this by very gradual transformations. 
Nobody knows at what period mental events began. We 
have no information that will tell us. Perhaps they did 
not begin, perhaps they are as universal as is the physical 
world ; and then again perhaps they are not. The argu- 
ment from analogy cannot apply unless we are informed 
accurately concerning the real physical concomitant of 
mental events. 

Further, this is a problem for science to determine. No But it is a 
amount of reflection will give us the information. The only sconce" 
way we could reach a panpsychist conclusion by reflection, rather than 
would be to return to the problem we have already discussed, physics, 
whether or not we must suppose that certain elements of 
mental life are conserved just as we have to suppose the 
conservation of mass and motion. If they are conserved, 
we must suppose that the cosmic dust whence our brain 
may ultimately have sprung contained psychic elements. 
In that case we should have a far stronger argument for 
assuming a universal mental existence beside the physical. 
But, in the meantime, we have no more right to say that 
consciousness is an event universally parallel to physical 
action than we have to maintain that the color blue is uni- 
versal and eternal. One thing that nature surely shows 
us, is, that new elements do arise, for example, new colors. 
The physics of one color is analogous to the physics of 
another color and to all physical action ; but this does not 
make one color the same as another, nor does it make 
color itself universal. Along with the likeness that forms 
the analogy is also a difference. Now it must always be a 
question whether or not the like elements or the unlike 
elements form the true correlate of the color, or, in our 
problem, of consciousness. In the case of color we have 
every reason to say that the unlike elements must be, at 
least in part, their physical correlate. Therefore, accept- 
ing even an extreme mechanical view of nature, it may be 



290 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

that the true physical correlate of consciousness is often 
absent. 
Conclusion, Thus we adopt against panpsychism the following con- 
clusion. The panpsychist must show that the physical 
correlate of consciousness is universally present in all 
physical action as such. This may be true, but we can 
find it out only through empirical means ; and how indefi- 
nitely distant are we from doing so ! We have everywhere 
within the world the constant creation, or coming into 
being, of new elements, such as the secondary qualities for 
instance ; and if one element of the world, why not con- 
sciousness? This does not make consciousness a mere 
quality of matter ; but anyway, what if it did ? That it 
does not we have shown ; for the qualities of matter are 
spatial, whereas consciousness is not spatial. The only 
means by which to prove through philosophy the univer- 
sality of consciousness is to find in the world of spirit 
some principle of conservation. This question we have 
already discussed, and we have shown that there is no 
such principle. Hence our final conclusion: The ques- 
tion whether or not mental life is universal is one that 
cannot be learned through philosophic reflection, but only, 
if ever, through empirical science. In short, the question 
does not belong to philosophy but to science. 



V. COSMOGONY 1 
CHAPTER XXXII 

CREATION 2 

In ontology and cosmology we have studied two of the Cosmogony 
three chief problems of metaphysics, — the essential attri- ^°*\^f ^ 
butes and the ultimate constitution of reality, — and hence 
we have one problem remaining, — that of creation, or the 
coming of the world into being. The discipline of phi- 
losophy devoted to the solution of this problem is called 
Cosmogony. 

Its problems may be grouped under three heads; for 
we may ask concerning the genesis of the world as a 
whole much the same questions that we might ask con- 
cerning the genesis of any particular object such as our 
body, a house, or a carpenter's tool. We may inquire, — 
first, whence came it, or what was its origin ; secondly, 
through what series of changes does it go after its origin ; 
what is its course of development, growth, or change; 
and finally, for what ultimate purpose has it been brought 
into existence, what office does it fulfil, what is the out- 

^ Parallel Beading. 

For many of the topics to be treated under Cosmogony the student 
will find interesting parallel reading in Paulsen, Introduction, Book I, 
Chapter II, especially Sections 2, 3, and 4. 

2 Historical Note. 

For the history of the theories of creation the student sho^^ld 
consult the histories of philosophy, especially the accounts given 
of the systems of the following men, — Aristotle, Plotinus, St. Augustine, 
Descartes, Malebranche, Berkeley, Spinoza, Leibniz, Kant, Fichte, 
Schelling, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Spencer. 

201 



292 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The mytho- 
logical 
views of 
Creation 
and their 
later modi- 
fications. 



come of its existence, wh?t is its end? When applied to 
the world, the first question is called the problem of crea- 
tion, the second the problem of evolution (cosmic evo- 
lution), and the third the teleological problem, or that of 
the end or purpose of the world. 

Let us turn, without further introduction, to the problem 
of creation. 

We have in the ancient mythologies, long before science 
had its birth in Greece, accounts of how the world came into 
being : and, as might be expected, they tell us that the first 
stage in the development of Greek science as it emancipated 
itself from religion was theology. " Aryan naturalism, 
modified by the national genius and the physical conditions 
under which it developed, forms its starting-point. This 
naturalism had passed the period of infancy long before the 
appearance of philosophy. The luminous ether (Diaus- 
Zeus), the sun and its fire (Apollo), the storm-cloud and 
its thunderbolts (Pallas-Athene) were originally taken 
for the gods themselves. Just as the child transforms its 
surroundings into an enchanted world, and regards its 
doll and wooden horse as living beings, so the humanity- 
child makes nature after its own image. For the con- 
temporaries of Homer and Hesiod, such objects are merely 
the sensible manifestations of the invisible divinity con- 
cealed behind them, a being that is similar to the human 
soul but superior to it in power, and, like it, invested with 
immortality. The gods form a kind of idealized, tran- 
scendent humanity, whose vices as well as virtues are 
magnified. The world is their work, their empire, the 
theatre of their wishes, defeats, and triumphs. Man, 
whom they envy rather than love, exists for their pleas- 
ure. They are the highest personifications of the will-to- 
live and are jealous of their unquestioned superiority; 
hence they deny him perfect happiness. The most assid- 
uous worship, the richest sacrifices, the most perfect 
fidelity, cannot move them when our prosperity dis- 



CREATION 293 

pleases them. Hence the melancholy which breathes 
in the gnomic poetry of a Solon or a Theognis, who prefer 
death to life, and esteem them happy who have never 
been born, or who die young. 

"In the measure in which the moral conscience is 
developed and refined, religious ideas are transformed 
and spiritualized. The gods of Homer, who reflect the 
exuberant, versatile, and quarrelsome youth of the Hel- 
lenic nation, are succeeded by the just and wise gods, the 
creations of its riper manhood (Pindar, iEschylus, and 
Sophocles). This qualitative transformation of the reli- 
gious ideas is accompanied by a quantitative transformation. 
Polytheism aims at greater simplicity. The good, which 
the will perceives as its highest end, is synonymous with 
harmony, and harmony means unity in diversity. Reli- 
gious and moral progress is in consequence a progress in a 
unitary and monotheistic direction. 

" The moral consciousness, which among the Greeks is 
identical with the sense of the beautiful, finds a powerful 
ally in reason and its natural tendency to unity. Guided 
by the monistic instinct, theology asks itself the question, — 
Who is the oldest of the gods, and in what order do they 
spring from their common Father? and receives an 
answer in the theogonies of Hesiod, Pherecydes of Syros, 
and Orpheus. Here, for the first time, the philosophical 
spirit finds satisfaction ; these fantastic conceptions are 
anticipations of the rational explanation of nature. 

" To conscience and reason a third factor, experience, is 
added. This, too, assists in the transformation of religious 
ideas, by demonstrating, with increasing evidence, the 
impossibility of explaining all phenomena, without excep- 
tion, by capricious wills. The facts of mathematics, because 
of their universality and necessity, especially defy theolog- 
ical interpretation ; how indeed can we assume the fact 
that twice two is four or that the three angles of a triangle 
are equal to two right angles, to be the result of caprice 



294 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

and not of absolute necessity? In the same way the 
observation of astronomical and physical facts, and their 
constant regularity and periodicity, gives rise to the idea 
of a Will that is superior to the whims of the gods, of an 
immutable Justice, of a divine Law, of a supreme Intelli- 
gence. The pioneers of philosophy, men like Thales, 
Xenophanes and Pythagoras, who were the first to pro- 
test against theological anthropomorphism, were likewise 
mathematicians, naturalists, and astronomers, if we may so 
designate men who had an elementary knowledge of the 
course of the stars, the properties of numbers, and the 
nature of bodies." ^ 
In my- In the primitive myths creation is often analogous to 

thoiogy birth. The world and even the gods are born, brouscht 

creation is & ' fc> 

an event in forth from some parent god. Whereas the tendency of a 
absolute later theology is to separate more and more the world from 
beginning. God, and to make the act of creation less and less analo- 
gous to birth or to human manufacture. According to the 
second chapter of Genesis, God " formed man of the dust 
of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of 
life." Whereas in the first chapter, a loftier and therefore 
probably later conception, we are told that God talked to the 
waste and void, and they obeyed him by passing from chaos 
into the ordered world. Yet in all early theology creation 
is looked upon as a deed done after the manner of human 
acts and human intelligence. It is, like any other event, an 
event in time. It is not an absolute beginning. In fact, 
the world is often represented as existing beforehand in a 
chaotic form ; and creation is described, not as the coming 
into being of the universe, but rather of its order. The 
world comes into existence out of chaos by means of an 
ordering power, the supreme deity. 

In later days, when philosophic thought arises, the 
act of creation is separated more and more from all other 
acts. Creation is thought of as absolute. It is no longer 

1 Weber, History of Philosophy, pp. 17 ff. 



CREATION 295 

regarded as an event in time. It is no longer the mere 
ordering of chaos into a cosmos. 

The moment this new conception is received and under- The prob- 
stood, a fundamental difficulty arises: and so great has on'eor'*'^^^ 
been this difficulty that even until now the teachers of absolute 
cosmogony have been divided into two conflicting schools. Tb^eism and 
If creation was an absolute beginning of the world, how Pantheism, 
did it come into being? On the one hand we may main- 
tain that God created the world out of nothing, and that 
God lives entirely apart from the world. Or, on the other 
hand, we may maintain that we are unable to separate God 
and the world, and that the world is just as eternal as is 
God, that it is ultimately God's manifestation of himself. 
In short, Ave may have two schools, the one theistic, the 
other pantheistic. 

The theist teaches that the world's creation was a crea- 
tion out of nothing. But the pantheist replies : Unless we 
regard this creation as an act in time, that is, as an event 
in the eternal life of God, before which God existed and 
the world did not exist, how does it differ from creation as 
described in my theory? If the world had a beginning in The creation 
time, we are called upon to give an explanation how it Theism ^ 
came into being ; but to explain how it came into being not an 
would then require a study, not of the world merely, but beginning, 
of God and of God's life before ever the world was. Until 
we understood how God came to create the world, we 
could not understand the creation itself. In short, such a 
creation is no absolute beginning, whereas human reason tells 
us that to be creation the beginning must be absolute. That is, 
the real problem of creation would have to be changed from 
one concerning the beginning of our world to one ashing the 
origin of God's life ; and like the old mgthologies, its solu- 
tion would have to discuss the origin of the deity. 

Thus the creation that philosophy can accept as a true Creation 
creation cannot be an event in time preceded by its cause, an°ev nt in 
for the cause of such an event would itself have to be time. 



296 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But if 
creation is 
timeless, we 
must give 
up theism 
to escape 
pluralism. 



AUthis 
leads us to 
a different 
view of 
creation. 



(a) Creation 
is not a be- 
ginning in 
time. 



regarded as a mere event, that is, as a mere change (in 
time) of that which existed beforehand, and so as a change 
in the life of God. Creation must be an absolute begin- 
ning, or one that does not involve any previous existence 
as its explanation. It must be an absolute beginning, one 
beyond which the human reason does not need to go in 
order to be satisfied. 

On this account theists have tended to say that creation 
was timeless. It was before all time (really a contradic- 
tion in terms), which, of course, means it was not an event 
at all. But if this be so, then the world is like God, it is 
eternal. However, theists refuse, with this admission, to 
concede that God and the world are one. God lives apart 
from the world ; God created it not out of himself, but out 
of nothing. Its existence is distinct from that of God. 

Now, much that has been said against pluralism at once 
disproves this theory of creation. Either the world leads 
a life absolutely apart from God and, without beginning or 
ending, is self-existent and self-explicable ; or, on the other 
hand, it depends on God for its existence and can be 
explained only through God. The former view contra- 
dicts at once all theistic creation. It gives us two worlds, 
the world and God, both equally self-existent and self- 
explicable. The latter view gives an explanation of the 
world that, as we showed in a former chapter, forces us to 
suppose a unity back of both ; for if the world depends on 
God, then God cannot be separated absolutely from it. 
Therefore we have to suppose an interaction between God 
and the world ; and we must assume a unity back of the 
interaction. In short, with the rejection of pluralism we 
rejected also by implication the theistic account of creation. 

How then shall we describe creation ? 

(1) Creation is not an event in time. There was no 
beginning nor will there be an ending to that constant 
process of change which we call the flow or stream of 
events. No matter how far back we go, there will lie 



CREATION 



297 



behind us a world witli its events just as there did when 
we first looked back and viewed the course over which we 
came. Likewise, no matter how far on in the future 
we go, we shall find no end to the series. The world's 
life is eternal or infinite in time. Creation does not mean 
a beginning in this sense. 

(2) Creation does not mean that the creator and the crea- 
ture are two separate things^ or entities. We mean by the 
creature exactly what we meant by the manifestation, and 
we mean by the creator what we meant by the substance 
of the world. They are not two things or absolutely dis- 
tinct entities, they are but two elements in the one world. 
The one is subject to change, the other is permanent. 
The creature is that which undergoes change ; and when 
we say that creation had no beginning, we mean that the 
world of change had no beginning. 

(3) But if the world is eternal, why do we talk of crea- 
tion at all, for the problem of creation is the problem of 
the origin of the world? Is there such a thing as creation ? 

There certainly is. Change itself is creation. The series 
of changes as a series is eternal ; but each element that 
makes up the series is not eternal, but has a beginning 
and an end in time. If we look at any part of nature, we 
shall find ample illustration. All about us we see the 
great processes of nature going on. Science gives us an 
account how our solar system arose, how the crust of our 
earth was formed, how life mounted from the simplest 
beginnings to higher and higher forms, how in time our 
earth will be no longer habitable for any form of life that 
we now know, how in time the moon and the earth and 
the other planets will be drawn back into the sun. 
This process, part of which science has discovered, is, of 
course, itself only part of a still larger process, the history, 
or process, of our sidereal S3^stem. Were our knowledge 
sufficiently great, we should be able to trace it on back 
into the past, on through stupendous periods of time. 



(6) It does 
not mean 
the sep- 
arate ex- 
istence of 
creator and 
creature, 



(c) but it 

means 

the very act 

of change 

itself. 



298 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Change or 
creation is 
universal 
and con- 
stant. 



But even then, the only reason why our story would stop, 
would be our lack of information ; and the same would 
similarly be true of our attempt to trace out the future. 
Thus nature's process is one of indefinite change, and one 
to which we cannot ascribe either beginning or ending. 

On the other hand, however, each individual occurrence 
does not have the same history as did the whole. Each 
had a beginning and will have an end. There was a time 
when there was no sun, no earth, no man. Nations, 
peoples, and races have their day and pass into the non- 
existence whence they came. Or let us take events of 
daily observation. As we watch the sky at sunset, we see 
its colors rapidly changing. The cloud that a moment 
ago was pink has now lost every trace of the red and has 
become a grayish blue. The pink was, it did exist. We 
saw it gradually arise and gradually fade away. There 
was a time but a moment ago when it was not, then it 
was, and now it has gone forever. To-morrow's sky may 
give us a similar, even a quite similar view; but to-day's 
sunset, like to-day and all that was to-day's, has gone to 
join the company of events that we call the past. Here 
we have before us a fact beyond dispute, the coming into 
being of that which was not and the going out of being of 
that which was. We have the fact of change. Change as 
such is creation, and the new is the creature. 

This process of change we must regard as universal. 
Excepting those aspects of the world which are permanent, 
that is, its substance, all is undergoing change. The 
world of to-day is never the world of yesterday. Back 
of the difference between to-day and yesterday, there is 
an identity which we have called substance ; but along 
with this identity that makes the world of to-day one 
with the world of yesterday, there is a perpetual change 
or newness to the world. The world of yesterday has 
ceased to be, and a new world, the world of to-day, has 
come into being, only in time to give place to a new 



CREATION 



299 



world, the world of to-morrow. The process as a whole 
had no beginning, nor will it have an ending. There 
never was a time when to-day was not arising to take the 
place of yesterday, nor a time when to-day was not giv- 
ing place to to-morrow. But what is true of the world- 
process as a whole is not true of it in any one moment of 
its existence. Each moment makes a new world, a new 
manifestation of the creator, the world of the moment 
comes into being with the moment and goes out of being 
likewise with it. Creation is not an event that takes 
place "once upon a time"; but it is a fact ever present, 
it is the ever-taking-place of events, it is the ever-coming- 
into-being of the new manifestation and the going-out-of- 
being of the old manifestation. 

(4) But liow is the world created, how does the indi- 
vidual thing with its changing states come into being? 
Before this question can be answered, we must learn the 
meaning of the very ambiguous word " how." 

First, " how " in our question could denote the means 
by which anything came into being or was made, that is, 
the material or stuff out of which it was made, the in- 
struments of construction, the intelligence and skill of the 
maker, and the particular laws of causation to which he 
had to conform in order to bring about his result. This 
meaning of our question could apply to the building of 
a house, or any other form of human construction. But 
clearly all this is not what we mean by creation. 

Secondly, we might leave out all thought of a workman 
and restrict the meaning of the word "how," solely to the 
laws of nature, that is, the laws of causation in accordance 
with which the changes taking place in the world always 
occur. These laws are simply uniformities of coexistence 
and sequence, or the order of occurrence of events. If 
we mean this by our question, then clearly all that science 
learns about causes and effects, or laws of nature, will be 
an answer to the problem of creation. 



{d ) How 
was the 
world 
created ? 



Three 
possible 
meanings of 
the ques- 
tion : 

(a) After the 
manner of 
human 
workman- 
ship. 



(P) The 
laws of 
causation. 



300 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPIIY 



(y) The 
deduction 
of the 

world as one 
necessarily 
following 
out of the 
nature of 
the Abso- 
lute. 



Meaning of 

term 

necessity in 

connection 

with 

creation. 



But there is a third possible meaning, and this is the 
meaning that has generally been given to our question. 
To tell the order in which events have to occur under any- 
given set of conditions, does not explain why that order 
has to be just what it is. By actual observation we learn 
tliat a is followed by b, and b hj c; but whi/ is a followed 
by b rather than by /or /? In fact, wh^ is it followed by 
any event of the series a to 2, and not by some entirely 
different sort of event, a to «o? Wh^/ do we have just the 
world we do have, why not quite a different world ? Is 
this the only world that there could have been, or could 
there have been another? In short, did the world have 
to be ; and if it did, why did it have to be just the world 
that it is ? 

To show that the world has to be, that its existence 
follows necessarily from the nature of its creator, requires 
us to find the same relation between God and the world 
as that which exists between the premises of an argument 
and its conclusion. In fact, it calls for a logical deduc- 
tion of the world from God's nature, presupposed as a 
premise. God's nature must be described in our premise, 
and this premise must be accepted as a self-evident truth, 
and then it must be shown to involve as a necessary con- 
sequence the proposition that the world had to be, and 
had to be just the world that is. 

In short, all that necessitj'- can here mean is rational 
necessity ; and that means, the world can be deduced out 
of the absolute. The only thing that can be necessary is 
the permanent, not the changing ; and when we say that 
the permanent is necessary, all we mean is, that it is really 
permanent, or eternal. The world is a necessary world, 
then, only in the sense that its laws of causation, and some 
other relationships that we have considered, are permanent. 
It is a necessary world only in the sense that all its events 
and changes obey the laws of causation and conservation. 

But let us suppose it to be maintained that God selected 



CREATION 301 

the world he was to create, that there might have been 
another world than there is. 

Clearly, if there might have been another world than 
there is, we could never deduce out of the nature of 
the creator the world that is ; for by hypothesis other 
worlds than this would be consistent with his nature. The 
thinker that accepts this view reduces the problem of cre- 
ation to answering how, after it was determined which 
world should be, that world was brought into existence by 
the creator. Thus he really maintains that the selection 
of the one world out of the possible worlds is inexplica- 
ble. If it were explicable, it would follow necessarily 
out of the nature of the creator. Therefore the man who 
believes that God chose the world out of many possible 
worlds, must either give up his belief or maintain that the 
world cannot be deduced from God's nature. 

We have, therefore, but the one theory to deal with, the 
theory that maintains it to be philosophy's duty to deduce 
the world from God's nature. 

The theory is absurd. To draw a valid conclusion in a Criticism of 

deductive syllogism, our conclusion must not go beyond V^ J[ 

the information given in our premises. If we do so, we creation. 

.... . It asks of us 

commit the formal fallacy of illicit minor or major, or the a logical 

material fallacy of non sequitur. Now by hypothesis, in impossi- 
the problem of creation we are asked to explain the world 
as the necessary consequence of a creator different from 
that world. In short, the world that follows necessarily 
out of the creator as a conclusion follows from its pre- 
mises, must be different from the creator. Such a demand 
is a rational absurdity. 

But you may ask, are we sure that this is demanded of 
us ? Clearly, because the very thing we are asked to 
explain is change, or the coming into being of that which 
was not. Either the world we are asked to explain is 
something quite new, that is, something that was not, or it 
existed from eternity. If the former, we cannot deduce it 



302 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The problem 
of creation 
is one 
with the 
discovery of 
the laws of 
causation. 



from the creator, for the creator must by our hypothesis 
of necessity be other than the creature. If the latter, we 
simply deny all creation, in short, deny the existence of 
change in the world and go back to Parmenides.^ 

Hence there is but one problem of creation, the second 
in our list. The third is an absurdity, and the first was 
inapplicable. The prohlem of creation is synonymous with 
asking ivhat are the laws of creation^ the laws of occurrence. 

1 Spinoza's view that creation was something that follows out of the 
nature of substance, as the properties of a triangle follow out of its nature 
(that is, definition), has no applicability whatever to creation. The 
properties of a triangle are permanent, not changing properties, whereas 
what we have to explain in creation is change. To suit Spinoza we must 
go back to Parmenides. However, if Spinoza accepts change as a reality, 
his account of what constitutes a rational explanation of creation is 
absurd ; and Parmenides we have already dealt with. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

THE DOCTRINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION ^ 

The problem of creation requires us to search for the The prob- 

laws, in accordance with which creation, or change, takes c™ation i 

place. This is one of the great tasks of science, and to deter- 

has been accomplished in so many ways during the past universal 

few centuries. But the problem of creation requires more Law of 
1 • • • 1 ■ ITT Change, 

than this ; it requires us to determine not merely the order 

in which this or that particular change takes place, but how 
all change takes place. In fact, it is this latter question 
that does in the narrowest sense constitute the problem of 
creation. True, an}'- change is a creation ; and the law in 
accordance with which the change takes place is a law of 
creation. But only a universal law of change, that is, a 
law bearing upon change as a whole, will give us an 
answer to the problem of world-creation. 

But is not this statement ambiguous ? What do we 
mean by a universal law of change ? Is there not a differ- 
ence between a universal law of change, and a laiv of uni- 
versal change ? What is the distinction, and which do we 
mean? 

1 Parallel Beading. 

One of the books that should be read early by every student of phi- 
losophy is Spencer's First Principles. As parallel reading for this chapter 
the student is referred to Chapters 12-23, which give Spencer's Theory of 
Evolution. This chapter practically presupposes that he has done this 
reading. Cf. also "Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism, Vol. I, Part II. 

For a shorter and an historical account, the student will do well 
to read Lecture IX, "The Rise of the Doctrine of Evolution," in 
Josiah Royce's The Spirit of Modern Philosophy, Boston and New 
York, 1892. 

303 



304 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This law 
does not 
mean the 
law of 
universal 
change, for 
this would 
be as a 
problem 
rationally 
impossible. 



A universal law of change would mean one in accord- 
ance with which any particular change takes place. It 
would be a law of each and every change. Whereas a 
law of universal change would be a law in accordance 
with which the universe iil its totality changes. It would 
be a law of world-change. Clearly the difference between 
the two is very great ; and, as we shall see, the one is a 
reasonable problem, and the other a rationally impossible 
one. A universal change — a change that includes in 
it the whole world — would mean the change of an infinite 
entity. But what does " the change of an infinite entity " 
mean ? By hypothesis it does not mean a characteristic 
common to all individual changes ; on the contrary, it 
means a change made up of all individual changes, and 
these are infinite in number. It means that we are to 
take the whole world as one object and tell the world's 
history. 

Now, our previous discussion of what is meant by the 
infinity of the world showed us that we can never deal 
with the world as a totality. We found that " its infinity" 
meant that no matter what part of it we made the object 
of thought, there would be more beyond, no matter how 
large that part might be either in duration or extension. 
Hence, whenever we deal with the world as a thing, — 
that is, as though we could grasp it in its totality, — we 
have put limits to that which by hypothesis has no limits. 
Supposing the world were an infinite ocean, we might 
know enough about the properties of water to learn laws 
that would api3ly to every part of the ocean. But how 
different a task it would be to decide what takes place in 
the ocean as a whole. Does the ocean move as a totality ? 
The only way in which we can determine motion is by 
comparison with the relatively immovable. With what, 
then, could we compare our ocean to determine its mo- 
tions? Clearly nothing. Our ocean as a whole could 
never be an object of study — an object we could com- 



THE DOCTKINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 305 

pare. In short, a law of change is not ajjplicable to the 
world as a totality^ because we can yiever treat the world 
as a totality ivithout limiting it, without settitig aside its 
infinity. 

However, the full proof of this, like so many other 
questions we have come upon, requires even a deeper 
analysis of the problem than we have given. Later on, 
in order to make our argument here thoroughly satisfac- 
tory, we must show that our minds cannot deal with the 
infinite in its totality, that all our knowledge is of finite 
entities, and that a problem which fails to recognize this 
rule leads us into absurdities. We refer to the doctrine 
of the relativity of knowledge. Therefore, presupposing a 
complete proof of this premise, we shall rule out of court 
as a rational absurdity any attempt to promulgate a law 
of universal change. Such a problem of creation is an 
absurd problem ; and hence we must limit our question 
to the one that asks: What is the law in accordance with 
which every change takes place ? 

Of all the attempts to formulate such a law, the most spencer's 
generally known to-day is that of Herbert Spencer, and Evolution 
it deserves our study rightly above all others. He calls as a Theory 
it a law of evolution. An excellent and brief summary 
of this law 1 can be found in the second volume of 
Hoffding's History of Modern Philosophy. We shall 
quote it in part : — 

" Every phenomenon has a history ; it appears and dis- AU evolu- 
appears. Each science describes the history of its own ^^^^ ^^ 
phenomena ; hence what we now have to do is to inquire Character- 
whether these different historical processes exhibit common 
features ; for if they do, we shall be able to formulate a 

1 Spencer's formal definition runs : — 

' ' Evolution is an integration of matter and concomitant dissipation of 
motion ; during which the matter passes from an indefinite, incoherent 
homogeneity to a definite, coherent heterogeneity ; and during which the 
retained motion undergoes a parallel transformation." 

X 



306 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(a) Inte- 
gration ; 



(6) Differ- 
entiation ; 



general laio of evolution. All development, it seems, 
exhibits with more or less clearness three different charac- 
teristics, which, taken together, constitute the complete 
concept of evolution. . . . 

"(1) Evolution as concentration (or integration). — At 
the birth of a phenomenon there takes place a collecting, 
combining, and concentrating of elements which were pre- 
viously scattered. If a cloud forms in the sky, or a sand 
heap on the shore, a development of the simplest kind has 
taken place, in which the process consists almost exclusively 
of a dissipation and an aggregation. Such a process of 
concentration took place, if we accept the hypothesis of 
Kant and Laplace, when our solar system passed out of its 
primary nebular state, in which its component parts were 
widely diffused and incoherent. All organic growth takes 
place by means of the absorption into the organic tissue of 
elements which were previously scattered about in sur- 
rounding plants and animals. We get a psychological 
example of the same process in generalization, and the 
framing of general concepts and laws ; by their means we 
concentrate in one thought a number of different presenta- 
tions and representations. Social evolution consists essen- 
tially in the progressive integration of individuals or 
groups of individuals who were formerly bound together 
by no close ties. 

" (2) Development as differentiation. — Only in the very 
simplest cases can development be described merely as a 
process of concentration. Not onl}'- is there a segregation 
of the whole mass from the environment, but also, within 
the mass thus separated off, special concentrations take 
place, so that the development becomes compound. And, 
in the course of development, these special concentrations 
become more and more prominent, so that when w^e compare 
the earlier with the later stages we find a transition from 
homogeneity to heterogeneity. In the course of devel- 
opment of the solar system a segregation of different 



THE DOCTRINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 307 

heavenly bodies takes place, each one of which has its own 
idiosyncrasy. Organic development proceeds from the 
homogeneous germ to the organism provided with different 
kinds of tissue, and with differently constructed and differ- 
ently functioning organs. The whole of organic life was, 
according to Lamarck's and Darwin's hypothesis, homoge- 
neous at earlier stages, for the existing differences of species 
are due to development from common parent forms. The 
senses develop, as we may see if we compare earlier with 
later stages, from less clear and less exact perceptive facul- 
ties to increasing clearness and exactitude, so that more 
and more differences can be apprehended. Mental life in 
general is estimated not only according to its concentration, 
but also according to its richness. In the course of social 
evolution the different estates and classes are formed 
through division of labor. 

" (3) Evolution as determination. — But the process of {c) Deter- 
dissolution is also characterized by differences appearing in 
what has hitherto been a homogeneous mass. In order to 
distinguish between development and dissolution, there- 
fore, we must add the further characteristic that in 
evolution there is an advance from confusion to order — 
from undeterminedarrangement to determined arrangement. 
Development is a passage from a chaos, of which the 
parts are scattered and homogeneous, to a united whole, 
the parts of which are heterogeneous, and at the same time 
stand in definite reciprocal connection with one another. 
Thus the solar system, the organism, consciousness, and 
human society are more or less ordered wholes. This 
third point of view really consists of a union of the two 
former ; an ordered whole is one in which differentiation 
of the parts and integration of the whole go hand in hand. 
EveryMdiere in the world — in great things as well as in 
small, in the mental as in the material world — evolutionary 
processes as above described are going on. On the basis 
of a comparative examination of these processes, evolution- 



minatiou. 



308 INTRODUCTION TO rillLOSOPIit 

ary philosophy formulates the fundamental features of the 
general history of every phenomenon. But what has thus 
been inductively discovered must now be deductively con- 
firmed ; it can be exhibited as an inference from the law of 
the conservation of force." ^ 

The de- To turn to Spencer's own words : — 

ductionof "The difficulty of dealing with transformations so 

Spencer's _ . . 

Law: many-sided as those which all existences have undergone, 

or are undergoing, is such as to make a definite or complete 
deductive interpretation seem almost hopeless. So to 
grasp the total process of re-distribution of matter and 
motion, as to see simultaneously its several necessary re- 
sults in their actual interdependence, is scarcely possible. 
There is, however, a mode of rendering the process as a 
whole tolerably comprehensible. Though the genesis of 
the rearrangement undergone by every evolving aggre- 
gate, is in itself one, it presents to our intelligence several 
factors; and after interpreting the effects of each sepa- 
rately, we may, by synthesis of the interpretations, form 
an adequate conception. 

(a) The " On setting out, the proposition which comes first in 

oftheHomo- logical order, is, that some rearrangement must result; 

geneous ; and this proposition may be best dealt with under the 
more specific shape, that the condition of homogeneity is 
a condition of unstable equilibrium. 

" First, as to the meaning of the terms ; respecting 
which some readers may need explanation. The phrase 
unstable equilibrium is one used in mechanics to express 
a balance of forces of such kind, that the interference 
of any further force, however minute, will destroy the 
arrangement previously subsisting, and bring about a 
totally different arrangement. Thus, a stick poised on 
its lower end is in unstable equilibrium : however exactly 
it may be placed in a perpendicular position, as soon as 
it is left to itself it begins, at first imperceptibly, to lean 
1 Hoffding, History of Modern Philosophy, Vol. II, pp. 467-469. 



THE DOCTRINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 309 

on one side, and with increasing rapidity falls into another 
attitude. Conversely, a stick suspended from its upper 
end is in stable equilibrium : however much disturbed, it 
will return to the same position. The proposition is, then, 
that the state of homogeneity, like the state of the stick 
poised on its lower end, is one that cannot be maintained. 
Let us take a few illustrations. 

'' Of mechanical ones, the most familiar is that of the 
scales. If they be accurately made, and not clogged by 
dirt or rust, it is impossible to keep a pair of scales per- 
fectly balanced: eventually one scale will descend and 
the other ascend — they will assume a heterogeneous re- 
lation. Again, if we sprinkle over the surface of a fluid 
a number of equal-sized particles, having an attraction for 
each other, they will, no matter how uniformly distributed, 
by and by concentrate irregularly into one or more groups. 
Were it possible to bring a mass of water into a state of 
perfect homogeneity — a state of complete quiescence, 
and exactly equal density throughout — yet the radiation 
of heat from neighboring bodies, by affecting differently 
its different parts, would inevitably produce inequalities 
of density and consequent currents ; and would so render it 
to that extent heterogeneous. . . . 

" The instability thus variously illustrated, is obviously 
consequent on the fact, that the several parts of any ho- 
mogeneous aggregation are necessarily exposed to different 
forces — forces that differ either in kind or amount ; and 
being exposed to different forces they are of necessity dif- 
ferently modified. The relations of outside and inside and 
of comparative nearness to neighboring sources of influence, 
imply the reception of influences that are unlike in quantity 
or quality, or both ; and it follows that unlike changes will 
be produced in the parts thus dissimilarly acted upon. 

" For like reasons it is manifest that the process must from which 
repeat itself in each of the subordinate groups of units ^^at^hrho- 
that are differentiated by the modifying forces. Each of mogeneous 



310 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

must ever these Subordinate groups, like the original group, must 
hetero"^'^^^ gradually, in obedience to the influences acting upon it, 
neity. lose its balance of parts — must pass from a uniform into 

a multiform state. And so on continuously. Whence 
indeed it is clear that not only must the homogeneous 
lapse into the non-homogeneous, but that the more homo- 
geneous must tend ever to become less homogeneous. . . . 
" On striking a mass of matter with such force as either 
to indent it or make it fly to pieces, we see both that the 
blow affects differently its different parts, and that the 
differences are consequent on the unlike relations of its 
parts to the force impressed. The part with which the 
striking body comes in contact, receiving the whole of 
the communicated momentum, is driven in towards the 
centre of the mass. It thus compresses and tends to dis- 
place the more centrally situated portions of the mass. 
These, however, cannot be compressed or thrust out of 
their places without pressing on all surrounding portions. 
And when the blow is violent enough to fracture the 
mass, we see, in the radial dispersion of its fragments, 
that the original momentum, in being distributed through- 
out it, has been divided into numerous minor momenta, 
unlike in their directions. We see that these directions 
are determined by the positions of the parts with respect 
to each other, and with respect to the point of impact. 
We see that the parts are differently affected by the 
disruptive force, because they are differently related to it 
in their directions and attachments — that the effects 
being the joint products of the cause and the condi- 
tions, cannot be alike in parts which are differently 
conditioned." ^ 

All this clearly follows from the general law of causa- 
tion. The different parts of the homogeneous mass must 
of necessity stand in different relations to the parts of the 
mass acting from without. As a consequence, we have 

1 Spencer, First Principles, Sections 149 and 155. 



THE DOCTRINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 311 

the parts acted upon by unlike causes which, according to 
the laws of conservation and causation, must give rise to 
unlike effects. 

But here a new factor must enter in, for these unlike (&) The 
effects become themselves causes, and being unlike, pro- catioifof 
duce further unlike effects. We thus have a multiplica- Effects, 
tion of effects. 

" A single force is divided by conflict with matter into 
forms that widely diverge. In the case lately cited, of a 
body shattered by violent collision, besides the change of 
the homogeneous mass into a heterogeneous group of scat- 
tered fragments, there is a change of the homogeneous 
momentum into a group of momenta, heterogeneous in 
both amounts and directions. Similarly with the forces 
we know as light and heat. After the dispersion of these 
by a radiating body toward all points, they are redispersed 
toward all points by the bodies on which they fall. Of 
the sun's rays, issuing from him on every side, some few 
strike the moon. These being reflected at all angles from 
the moon's surface, some few of them strike the earth. 
By a like process the few which reach the earth are again 
diffused through surrounding space. And on each occa- 
sion such portions of the rays as are absorbed instead of 
reflected, undergo refractions that equally destroy their 
parallelism. . . . 

" Universally, then, the effect is more complex than the 
cause. Whether the aggregate on which it falls be homo- 
geneous or otherwise, an incident force is transformed by 
the conflict into a number of forces that differ in their 
amounts, or directions, or kinds ; or in all these respects. 
And of this group of variously-modified forces, each ulti- 
mately undergoes a like transformation. 

" Let us now mark how the process of evolution is fur- and hence 
thered by this multiplication of effects. An incident ^^/^q^^*^ 
force decomposed by the reactions of a body into a group geneity. 
of unlike forces — a uniform force thus reduced to a 



312 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

multiform force — becomes the cause of a secondary- 
increase of multiformity in the body which decomposes 
it. . . . Each differentiated division of the aggregate 
thus becomes a centre from which a differentiated division 
of the original force is again diffused. And since unlike 
forces must produce unlike results, each of these differen- 
tiated forces must produce, throughout the aggregate, a 
further series of differentiations. This secondary cause of 
the change from homogeneity to heterogeneity, obviously 
becomes more potent in proportion as the heterogeneity 
increases." ^ 
(c) Segrega- But to this principle of the multiplication of effects 
tion. must be added a further truth. The various parts that 

are alike, in so far as they are themselves acted upon by 
like foi'ces, must retain their likeness amid surrounding 
change. Thus it follows that — 

" In an aggregate containing two or more orders of 
mixed units, those of the same order will be moved in the 
same way, and in a way that differs from that in which 
units of other orders are moved, the respective orders 
must segregate. A group of like things on which are 
impressed motions that are alike in amount and direction, 
must be transferred as a group to another place, and if 
they are mingled with some group of other things, on 
which the motions impressed are like each other, but 
unlike those of the fii'st group in amount or direction or 
both, these other things must be transferred as a group to 
some other place — the mixed units must undergo a simul- 
taneous selection and separation. 

" In further elucidation of this process, it will be well 
here to set down a few instances in which we may see 
that, other things equal, the definiteness of the separation 
is in proportion to the definiteness of the difference be- 
tween the units. Take a handful of any pounded sub- 
stance, containing fragments of all sizes ; and let it fall to 

1 First Principles, Section 156. 



THE DOCTRINE AND PKINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 313 

the ground while a gentle breeze is blowing. The large 
fragments will be collected together on the ground almost 
immediately under the hand ; somewhat smaller fragments 
will be carried a little to the leeward ; still smaller ones a 
little farther ; and those minute particles which we call 
dust, will be drifted a long way before they reach the 
earth : that is, the integration is indefinite where the dif- 
ference among the fragments is indefinite, though the 
divergence is greatest where the difference is greatest. 
If, again, the handful be made up of quite distinct orders 
of units — as pebbles, coarse sand, and dust — these will, 
under like conditions, be segregated with comparative 
definiteness : the pebbles will drop almost vertically ; the 
sand will fall in an inclined direction, and deposit itself 
within a tolerably circumscribed space beyond the pebbles ; 
while the dust will be blown almost horizontally to a great 
distance. A case in which another kind of force comes 
into play, will still better illustrate this truth. Through 
a mixed aggregate of soluble and insoluble substances, let 
water slowly percolate. There will in the first place be a 
distinct parting of the substances that are the most widely 
contrasted in their relations to the acting forces : the 
soluble will be carried away ; the insoluble will remain 
behind. Further, some separation, though a less definite 
one, will be effected among the soluble substances ; since 
the first part of the current will remove the most soluble 
substances in the largest amounts, and after these have 
been all dissolved, the current will still continue to bring 
out the remaining less soluble substances. Even the un- 
dissolved matters will have simultaneously undergone a 
certain segregation ; for the percolating fluid will carry 
down the minute fragments from among the large ones, 
and will deposit those of small specific gravity in one 
place, and those of great specific gravity in another." ^ 
This principle of segregation Mr. Spencer sums up in 

1 First Principles, Section 163. 



314 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

the abstract formula, " In the actions and reactions of 
force and matter, an unlikeness in either of the factors 
necessitates an unlikeness in the effects ; and in the 
absence of unlikeness in either of the factors, the effects 
must be alike." ^ 

We now have two principles which show that change 
works in two directions. That is, with an integration of 
matter we have one factor leading to differentiation of 
parts and another leading to segregation of parts, or their 
determination. In Mr. Spencer's words, an indefinite 
homogeneity must become a definite heterogeneity. 

A summary or epitome of his theory makes very difficult 
and abstruse reading, although Mr. Spencer's own account 
of it is both interesting and easily understood. However, 
we may gather all the foregoing into the following brief 
and simple statements. No object can remain alwaj^s the 
same. It must change ; and when it does do so, it must 
change along one of two lines, one of which is called evo- 
lution. In evolution, the structure of the object becomes 
more complicated, and its different parts become more defi- 
nitely marked out and unified. Or technically expressed, 
the homogeneous is unstable, and the resulting effects tend 
to multiply, and in this process like elements or elements 
affected alike tend to segregate. 

But all change is not evolution ; there is the other line 
along which it can take place. This, Mr. Spencer calls 
dissolution. In dissolution the object becomes less com- 
plicated, and its parts tend to scatter. It loses its 
(d) Evoiu- structure. That is, Q,nj aggregate of matter must be in 
tion leads to q^q q£ three conditions that exhaust the possibilities. Its 

an equi- ^ 

librimn, and parts must be coming together, or separating, or they must 
toa^'^ ^^^ ^® ^^ ^ temporary state of equilibrium. To quote again 
Dissolution, from Hoffding : — 

" Evolution must (on the supposition, of course, that it 
will not be interrupted from without) necessarily lead to a 

1 Section 169. 



THE DOCTRINE AND TRINCirLES OF EVOLUTION 315 

state of equilibrium, in which concentration as well as 
differentiation will have reached its zenith. In the devel- 
opment of man, this state is identical with the highest 
perfection and blessedness, and consists in the greatest 
possible harmony between man and nature, and between 
man and man. But since external influences are unceas- 
ingly operating, this state of equilibrium must in course 
of time come to an end. Evolution is succeeded b}'^ disso- 
lution when there is no longer sufficient energy to main- 
tain, in the face of persistent disturbances, a harmony 
between concentration and differentiation. Passing 
through the different stages of dissolution, we finally arrive 
at a new chaos. Just as, within the circle of our experience, 
processes of evolution are unceasingly going forward, so 
there are unceasing processes of dissolution of larger and 
smaller wholes. Even if our solar system — and all other 
solar systems — carry within themselves, as some authori- 
ties believe, the seeds of dissolution, the possibility of the 
formation of new systems is not excluded, for there will 
always be external forces to start the process of evolution 
again. All motion is rhythmical ; hence development and 
dissolution will alternate with one another ad infinitum.''' '^ 

In short, Mr. Spencer gives us the following universal 
law of change. Every object, whether it be a chemical 
atom, a stone, a living being, a nation, a planet, or a solar 
system, is built up by a process of integration, or evolution, 
then it reaches a stage in which evolution ceases, a stage 
of equilibrium, and finall}^ it disintegrates or enters upon 
a stage of dissolution. This dissolution, too, has an end- 
ing, reaches an equilibrium, and then there starts once 
more a new process of evolution. Thus there goes on in 
nature, rhythmically, a passing back and forth from a state 
of integration to one of disintegration, and from one of 
disintegration again to one of integration. 

Mr. Spencer does not always make it clear whether or 

1 Hoffding, History of Modern Philosophj', Vol. II, pp. 470-471. 



316 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



A criticism 
of Spencer's 
theory. 



Evolution 
not 

applicable 
to the 
world as a 
whole. 



It is a theory 
only of 
mechanical 
evolution. 



not he means that the world as a whole has undergone 
or does undergo such a process of evolution and dissolu- 
tion as he describes. But doubtless (as several passages 
show) he applies his law only to the finite. Of course 
with the conclusions in mind that we have previously 
drawn, his theory would at once become an absurdity if 
applied to the world as a totality. If evolution be a loss 
of motion, this cannot mean a loss of motion out of the 
universe. Clearly the doctrine of the conservation of 
mass and motion alone would show that the universe as 
a whole cannot lose motion. Therefore the universe as a 
whole cannot integrate its matter with a concomitant loss 
of motion. A solar system can lose its motion ; it can 
give up to outside space anything you will, but how can 
we talk of the universe doing so ? We must have a sur- 
rounding world into which to cast, as it were, the chips 
from our carpenter's bench. Likewise dissolution is an 
absorption of motion, but clearly the universe cannot 
absorb motion. In short, we can talk of sidereal or solar 
evolution, of human or social evolution, of the evolution 
of the chemical atom, but let us give up, once for all, 
talking about world-evolution. 

At the same time, there is one objection we must raise 
without necessarily denying the truth of Spencer's theory. 
Mental evolution cannot be described as an integration of 
matter and a dissipation of motion ! As far as science 
informs us, mental evolution takes place in connection 
with brain evolution, and quite in uniformity with it. 
So mental evolution can, perhaps, be shown to go on in 
a course quite uniform with that of material evolution. 
This objection against Mr. Spencer's Theory of Evolution 
throws at once a different light upon it. It is a theory/ 
of mechanical evolution, and only of mechanical evolution. 
However, this is not a fundamental objection to it. In 
our study of the philosophy of nature, and of the phi- 
losophy of mind, we found that the mechanical theory 



THE DOCTRINE AND TRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 317 



changes we 
must co- 
ordiuate 
these with 
the 
mechanical. 



must ultimately form the basis of all our interpretation To apply the 
of the material and mental worlds. The world of the Jjje^*" 
secondary qualities and of mental life must be coordi- 
nated with the world of material atoms and its mechanical 
laws. Ultimately, then, a law of evolution of the mechan- 
ical world does hold universally. It is this fundamental 
truth that enables Spencer to draw so readily illustrations 
of his laws from chemistry, physiology, psychology, and 
sociology. 

But this at once brings up the question whether or not 
we can have a similar theory of evolution of the secondary 
qualities and of mental life. We reply : If the analysis 
of our problems in earlier chapters hold true, then we 
cannot have any such theory. The ultimate permanent 
element in all changes, we had to seek in the material, 
atomic world. We could not find in the secondary qual- 
ities and mind those permanent elements that such a 
theory requires us to presuppose. The ultimate perma- 
nent elements for our interpretation must be obtained by 
coordinating the mechanical world with the world of 
quality and mind, that is, by finding the laws of co- 
existence holding between them.^ 



1 Many will find objections to using the term evolution at all for Mr. 
Spencer's theory. This question, however, we feel belongs to a treatise 
to discuss. They would prefer the term involution. 

Evolution for Spencer means an integration of matter, and dissolution 
a disintegration. If we confine the argument to one sense of the term, 
Spencer can be justified, for evolution means the coming into being of a 
new structure out of elements already in existence. It is opposed to the 
creation of new elements ; clearly, then, in this sense, it is a theory 
holding of a mechanical atomic world. However, if we mean by evolu- 
tion the development of an object from within, like the development of 
a bud into a rose, an egg into a chick, then Spencer's theory is not one 
of evolution. Still all this is a quarrel about terms. However, should 
it be made a quarrel about principles, then the foregoing chapters are 
clearly on Mr. Spencer's side. In the philosophy of nature we main- 
tained that science can never accept ultimately any change as a devel- 
opment from within the object but must analyze the object into atoms 



318 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

From all this we must see at once that the doctrine of 
evolution in no way sets aside special creation. Special 
creation, or the coming into being of new elements (the 
secondary qualities and mental states) is constantly tak- 
ing place. 

As the result of our study of the theory of evolution, 
we may sum up the principles of evolution as follows : — 
The 1. The law of evolution is applicable only to a part 

EvoiuUo^n.^ ^^ ^^® universe, not to the universe as a totality. Evo- 
lution involves the action and reaction of causes from 
without, and as such affords a wrong picture of the uni- 
verse, for all its action must be immanent, or from within. 

2. Likewise, the law of evolution is inapplicable to 
any part of the world in the sum-total of its reality. 
This statement only repeats a principle that we discussed 
in the philosophy of nature. Any part of reality is never 
interpreted in the sum-total of its elements. Any part is 
of infinite complexity ; and therefore when our minds 
interpret it, they do so now from this point of view and 
now from that, now neglecting these elements and now 
those. 

3. In the law of evolution we interpret objects as made 
up of parts that we accept for the time being as atoms. 

obeying mechanical laws. This alone is the final stage of analysis. 
Hence the assertion of the spontaneous development of any object or the 
development (evolution) of it from v?ithin is but a confession of igno- 
rance. The egg is acted upon by forces from without, e.g., the heat of 
the mother's body ; but of course its structure is the chief factor in its 
development. Still the part this structure plays becomes itself a problem 
for further analysis, and in this analysis we seek for simple elements or 
atoms whose action we can interpret according to mechanical laws. 

Hence this sense of evolution (development from within) is not to be 
accepted in applying the term to any object, for all are ultimately to be 
interpreted mechanically. It may, however, be applied in a limited sense 
to the secondary qualities and to mind, for we have in them just such 
spontaneous change that we have called creation ; and again it may be 
applied without this limitation to the world at large, for here all action 
must be thought of both as spontaneous and as coming from within. 



THE DOCTRINE AND PRINCIPLES OF EVOLUTION 319 

In short, the law of evolution is a law of the separation 
and recombination of atoms. If we speak of the evolu- 
tion of our solar system, we clearly mean to determine how 
certain bodies, cosmic dust, have so distributed themselves 
that we have the solar system as a result. A similar truth 
could be shown to hold concerning any other example we 
might wish to bring forward. Of course, each one of 
these atoms may be in itself indefinitely complex, and 
likewise, their redistribution may involve the creation 
of many qualities that the evolving object previously 
lacked, e.g.^ the change of color as a star evolves. 

Again, in the law of evolution we strive to interpret the 
new as only a redistribution of previously existing ele- 
ments. The law of evolution strives thus to deny special 
creation, but it can do so only in part. Special creation 
is ever taking place ; and all that the law of evolution 
can here assert in opposition holds only against such spe- 
cial creation as would conflict with the principles of con- 
servation (such as those of mass and motion). The basis 
then of the law of evolution is the atomic system and the 
principles of conservation ; and on this basis the evolution- 
ist is called upon to show the law in accordance with which 
any system of atoms will redistribute themselves. 

4. The principles that govern the distribution of matter 
can be deduced from the axioms and deductions of me- 
chanics. If we follow Spencer, they are : (a) The Insta- 
bility of the Homogeneous ; (h') The Multiplication of 
Effects ; (c) The Principle of Segregation ; (d) The 
Ultimate Necessity of an Equilibrium ; (e) The Necessity 
of Dissolution after Integration. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 



TELEOLOGY 



The world, 
an eternal 
process of 
change. 



Creation is 
not an act 
after the 
fashion of 
human 
deeds. 



We have learned that the course of nature is eternal. 
We can ascribe to it no beginning, nor can we in any way 
predicate of it an ending. It is an ever-changing process, 
in which the work of creation goes on unceasingly. The 
character of this work, that is, the order in which it takes 
place, we can know only in so far as we see it manifested 
in the life of the individual thing or system, of things. 
But the life of the world as a whole we cannot thus know. 
Each part comes gradually into being, lives its span of life, 
and then goes back into the darkness whence it came. 
Each part does so, whether it be the insect whose life is 
but a day, the man whose years are threescore and ten, 
the empire that holds its sway for a thousand years, or 
the solar system whose duration is numbered in millions of 
centuries. But the world of which they are, has neither 
evolution or dissolution ; the lifetime of a sidereal system, 
yes, a million million times that lifetime, is to it but "as 
yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night." 

Can we tell the end or purpose of that world, the goal 
whither all things tend ? Are we to look for some ulti- 
mate stage in creation that will mark the wherefore of all 
that has been before ? Can we say for what purpose the 
creator has brousfht our world into existence ? 



1 Parallel Beading. 

Paulsen, Introduction, Book I, Chapter II, Section 3. 

Sigwart, Kleine Schriften, 2d ed., Freiburg, 1889. Der Kampf gegen 
den Zweck. 

Ward, Naturalism and Agnosticism, Vol. II, Lecture XIX. 

Cf. Eisler, Philosophisches Worterbuch, under the term " Teleologie " ; 
also, Baldwin's Dictionary of Philosophy. 

320 



TELEOLOGY 321 

Clearly we talk but as children when we tell of God 
forming plans after the fashion of men. Clearly we talk 
but as children when we think of any conceivable stage of 
the world as the final consummation of any such plan. The 
creator is not a man, nor does creation proceed after the 
fashion of human deeds. When we construct an object 
or perform an action we are but links in that unending 
chain of causation, — the world-process. Our thoughts and 
their plans are likewise just such links. They are not a 
true beginning of the chain, or series, except as looked at 
from our finite human point of view. We talk of our 
handiwork as though our plans had created it ; whereas 
they were but an infinitesimal part of that stage in the 
world's history to which our handiwork belongs, and that 
stage likewise is but an infinitesimal part of the series that 
went before it. Hence we are talking but as children 
when we ascribe a result to any one preceding event. In 
its full nature all the world has played a part in every- 
thing that is. Its being and nature are determined by all 
before it, and we may add with equal surety even all that 
will follow after it. 

The creator does not work then after the fashion of Creation has 
men. It would be truer to say that all eternity is for him nation "0!?' 
but one present moment, for the world in all its totality final event, 
enters into every part of the world and into every moment 
of its existence. To know any one part and any one 
time is to know its relationship to all parts and to all times ; 
for singularism has taught us that we cannot separate one 
part from any other part, or one time from any other time. 
Such separations are the abstractions of our thought. The 
reality is one system, one ultimate thing. Therefore no 
time and no part are to be singled out and regarded as a 
consummation, except, if you will, in the same partial way 
you and I single out other events. 

Then, too, a world without beginning or ending cannot 
be the outcome of plans that form the beginning of a series, 



322 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But from 
another 
point must 
we not main- 
tain a 
purpose to 
be revealed 
in creation ? 
Its marvel- 
lous adap- 
tations can- 
not be the 
result of 
chance. 



nor can it have an ending or final stage, that is, the con- 
summation of some plan. As we know the world, there 
is no finality to it in the sense of consummation', nay, 
rather, to be in one stage means but the passing from that 
stage to the next. Any one moment, therefore, is just as 
much and just as little a consummation as any other. 

But, it will be objected, do you mean to say that mere 
chance has brought into existence the marvellous adapta- 
tions we see about us? Take our earth: how wonderfully 
it is adapted to be the home of life, of plant, beast, and 
man, and finally of society and civilization ! Is its rela- 
tion to the sun, the source of light and heat, is the chemi- 
cal structure of its crust, are its air and its rainfall, but the 
results of chance ? Are those wonderful adaptations found 
in all forms of life to feed and protect the individual and 
to bring about the procreation and preservation of the 
species, are they mere chance ? 

Think of the marvellous anatomical structures from those 
in the lowest types of life all the way up to those in man. 
Ponder over the human body as a mechanism, the organs 
within, with each its definite function to perform, — the 
lungs, the heart, the arteries, the veins, the digestive tract, the 
liver, the organs of secretion and excretion. Finally, take 
the nervous system and the organs of sense, — the eye, the 
ear, and the other organs. Think of the adaptation to 
environment revealed in the habits and instincts of every 
animal. Can you dare to find in all this wonderful, awful, 
adaptation, aught but the workmanship of an infinite 
intelligence planning what he performs ? Having in what 
man produces an example of what mind has Avrought, must 
we not argue from analogy to a mind infinitely powerful, 
wise, and perfect, as the only possible explanation of the 
world ? Can these marvellous adaptations and organisms 
that we find in nature be the result of blind chance ? To 
say so were, as we said before, to maintain an absurdity a 
thousand times greater than to say, stone-quarries of them- 



TELEOLOGY 323 

selves change into cathedrals and iron mines into locomo- 
tives and steam-ships. 

What shall we say in reply ? First, we shall call our Reply: 
opponent to account for using the word chance. Who oppoiient 
said the world was the result of chance ; and in fact, what misuses the 
do you mean by chance ? From our human point of view chance • 
there is chance; but did you and I know fully the laws 
and order of things, we should set aside forever the use 
of this word. You and I, who cannot reckon before the 
die is cast how it Avill lie, talk of chance. It is a matter of 
chance whether or not aces come or sixes ; but if we have 
the die so loaded that aces will come every time, will 
double aces then be chance ? But is one case any the less 
determined by the physical laws operating in the throw 
than is the other? Clearly, not at all. The only differ- 
ence is that you and I are able to predict the result in the 
one case, whereas we are not able to do so in the other. 
Chance then means what cannot be predicted because of 
our ignorance of the conditions. Were our knowledge 
greater, what chance event might we not predict? In 
short, the degree of chance is but relative to our information. 

But, again, to urge that it is inconceivable that such {&) The pre- 
adaptations should arise without a mind directing the of Tmind° 
causal process is likewise absurd. It is absurd, for we does not 
cannot show even in the matters of everyday life how explain 
mind directs the course of events or even that mind does adap- 
do so. Our study of the philosophy of mind taught us 
that the fundamental explanation of all mental action has 
to be found in terms of blind mechanical forces. Nervous 
heredity and nervous habit are the terms in which psy- 
chology has to explain the succession of our mental states. 
When I propose to walk across the room, pick up a book, 
and return to my desk, why does my proposal result in 
the actual accomplishment of the deed proposed? All we 
can say is, that it does do so. It is one of the laws of 
nature, that our thoughts are followed by actions. To 



324 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(c) But 
more than 
this, 

creation is 
not anal- 
ogous to 
human 
deeds, nor 
would a 
world-mind 
be anal- 
ogous to a 
human 
mind. 



explain why a given thought should result in a given 
action we have to appeal to the purely physical laws of 
nervous mechanism. Thus we explain human handiwork 
only after the same law of causation that we interpret any 
other series of events. By actual experience we have 
learned the connection between human ideals, or thoughts, 
and human actions ; therefore certain results found only 
in human handiwork we ascribe always to human ends as 
the cause. But in the last analysis a purely mechanical 
explanation would have explained the result just as ade- 
quately. It would have given just as much information, 
for it, too, would have told us the causal relations. When 
psychology explains human deeds teleologically, no new 
principle of causation is brought in. If this be not true, 
then our whole conclusion concerning the philosophy of 
mind is false. 

But all this aside, will our opponent's position stand as 
an argument from analogy ? Are the adaptations in nature 
really analogous to the adaptations of human handiwork? 
We know in a general way how both sets of adaptations 
arise. In one case, minds act through human bodies and 
direct the forces stored up in the nerves and muscles of 
those bodies. In the other case there is every reason to 
believe that no body directed by a mind analogous to the 
human mind has been at work. In the case of human 
workmanship the mind and the body work apart from the 
handiwork itself. The shoemaker and the shoes, the 
watchmaker and the watch, are two very different things. 
Hence, in the case of nature, if nature is the work of a 
power analogous to man, there must be some outside 
power both spiritual and bodily standing by nature and 
working over it and handling it as does a shoemaker his 
shoe. What a monstrous theory ! Is not every particle 
of evidence against such a view ? 

If a controlling mind works and directs nature, it must 
do so from within, not from without. From without it 



TELEOLOGY 325 

would at once be an exception to the law of the conserva- 
tion of energy. Hence, if the adaptations of nature are 
analogous to human deeds, they are at the most analogous 
only to the control the mind has on the body, for this is 
from within. Then we might suppose that nature is 
related to some world-mind as our body is related to our 
mind. But will this analogy really hold? It certainly 
will not. Our life is amid a surrounding world, and the 
office our mind performs is to adapt us to that world. 
But the life of such a universal spirit would not be like 
ours. There would be no forces without its body with 
which to cope. Its life would be one led entirely within 
the body. Now, the purely internal activities of our body 
are just the ones that are least teleological, as far as the 
direction of human thought is concerned. The beating 
of the heart, the breathing, the digestion, and the other 
physiological processes of the body, go on with little 
thought or direction from our minds ; and if it were not 
for the changing conditions of the daily environment, we 
could get along very well without any intelligence whatever. 
In fact, where we can substitute for carefully planned and 
carefully wrought actions, habits, we are constantly doing 
so. A permanent form of adjustment to environment, such 
as a habit is, is just the type of existence toward which we all 
tend ; and habits are, when thoroughly established, almost 
as mechanical as breathing. In short, only the variety of 
environment and its constant changes save us from becom- 
ing mere machines. If evolution tells us aught about the 
origin of the human mind, it tells us that the office for 
which our mind has been selected by nature is just adapta- 
tion to the external world. Now a world-spirit would 
therein lead a very different life from our own. Just to 
perform that office that you and I do with least thought, 
we argue would require mind in nature. No, the office of 
such a world-spirit in nature would not be analogous to 
the work our minds perform. 



326 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Yet a very 
true mean- 
ing still 
remains for 
Teleology. 
The laws of 
causation do 
not exhaust 
the story of 
reality. 



We must then conclude that this whole type of teleolog}"-, 
which we may call anthropomorphic teleology, breaks 
down, no matter from what point we may view it. 

But must we therefore set aside all teleology ; is there 
not another meaning of the word that does apply to the 
Avorld in its eternal process of creation ? There may be no 
definite states in its countless changes that are to be re- 
garded as the consummations of the creator's plans. Such 
a doctrine we have set aside. The assertion of a universal 
end whither all creation tends is a theory that involves us 
in absurdity. 

Yet, on the other hand, it would be no less absurd to 
teach that we have told all there is to say, that we have 
exhausted reality, when we have given the laws of nature 
or the causal laws of order in which nature's changes take 
place. The mechanical story of the world simply tells us 
that a is followed by 5, c by c?, and e by /; and therefore 
when a and c and e did occur, h and d and / followed. 
Thus, if we assume the existence of the nebula of cosmic 
dust that we believe formed the primitive state of our 
solar system, and the validity of the laws of mechanics, 
including those of gravitation, we have to grant that there 
will exist in the course of time a solar system like our own. 
All this is true ; but is it the whole truth ? All that the 
mechanical theory tells us is that what did happen obeyed 
certain laws. It tells us, given a you will have h as an 
effect ; but it does not tell the story why a is given. Why 
did just the nebula of cosmic dust exist that did constitute 
the primitive state of the solar system ? You may reply, 
because x preceded, and x is always followed by y. Of 
course such answers would involve us in the infinite series 
pushing backward from state to state for eternit}^ But 
this was not our question. Our question is : Why is h and 
not c the result of a, or why is y and not z the result of a:? 
To this your mechanical theory can answer nothing. Hence 
the question arises : Can we sa}^ aught why the world is 



TELEOLOGY 327 

such as it is ; why the uniformities of nature are just what 
they are ; why a nebuhx of star-dust should be of such a 
character that in time it developed into a solar system, an 
earth, and the living organisms on that earth with all their 
wonderful adaptations, why part of creation took the form 
of humanity, society, civilization, and culture ? 

As our discussion of creation has shown us, we have no 
means of answering this question. In fact, the only mean- 
ing we can give to the word "• why " is that it asks for a 
cause. Has then our "why" any meaning? Yes, it is 
simply a protest against regarding the mechanics of nature 
as anything but an abstraction. The reality is infinitely 
more than a mere abstract network of law. The reality is 
that which obeys the law, but it is more than the law. It is 
true that the world obeys laws, and that the only way in 
which we can explain any part or event of nature is to 
give the law it obeys. But reality is more than the answer 
to this "why." Reality is the organism, it is the adapta- 
tion, it is the star-dust that has the future before it to be a 
living man or woman, animal or plant. In short, we have 
the fact that the world is such, that it does in the course 
of creation have these wonderful organisms and adapta- 
tions. That fact is beyond dispute. That fact is not de- 
scribed in the mechanical story of reality. It is to that 
fact that the term teleology may and should be used to 
call attention. Reality is in part just these wonderful 
adaptations. They belong to it ; they are of it. 

But why should we call this doctrine a teleology? Just The world 

because all these things — man, animals, plants, solar sys- ^gionss^to'it 

terns, society — were not always here. They came into and its 

being ; they were created. From all eternity the universe j^^^g (j^ng 

was such that they in time had to be. The past is the so from all 

forerunner of the present and future, and the present and xo this fact 

future are the true and only possible successors of the *}^® ^^^^ 

. . . Teleology 

past. No stage of the world in its full reality can be refers. The 

separated from the other stages. Past, present, and future "^^ridisan 



328 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOrilY 



eternal 
present 
determined 
by the 
future as 
well as by 
the past. 



Conclusion. 



are necessarily interlocked as stages of one eternal reality, 
the universe. The past determines the future ; but we can 
say just as tj'uly, the future determined the past. In this 
sense the world is an eternal present, and the totality of 
its being is involved in every moment and in every crea- 
ture of every moment. Each is what it is because of all 
the rest; but all the rest, we might just as well say, is 
what it is because of the humblest of God's creatures. 
An infinite intelligence could have seen in what was, all 
that is, and in all that is, all that was and will be. 

Thus teleology points out the wonderful adaptations in 
reality, and bids us remember that from eternity to eter- 
nity in all stages of the world, these had to be, were 
determined to be. They are not something over and above 
the world, for all belongs to the world. They are in that 
sense not mere chance accompaniments ; but they are of 
the very blood and bone of reality itself, and through the 
causal laws are so from all eternity to all eternity. In 
this way teleology attempts to combine in one picture the 
concrete reality and the abstractions taught by science as 
holding of reality, — the concrete thing with the law it 
obeys. We might say, it views the thing in the light of 
its universal history. Of course our finite imaginations 
afford us but the most inadequate picture of this world- 
process that our words imply ; but still the finite wonders 
and beauties of nature we can perceive, and no theory dare 
declare them to be other than the creator's and his mani- 
festation of himself. 

Yet there is an even deeper meaning than this to tele- 
ology ; but with it we pass from metaphysics and science 
over to religion. This deeper meaning asserts that the 
universe meets ultimately the needs of our will and its 
ideals, that the universe is itself ideal. But the discussion 
of this religious interpretation of reality and of its validity 
"we must put off till a later chapter. 



CHAPTER XXXV 



CONCLUSION 



We have now concluded our study of metaphysics. Metaphysics 
We have drawn often quite settled conclusions, but fre- ^Teper" ^^* 
quently we have been led by our reflection to problems we problems. 
had to let pass by unsolved. In so doing we have pointed 
to a possible continuation of our reflection upon problems 
even more truly fundamental than those we were solving. 

We found the true character of the atomic theory to be The new 
quite different from what we ordinarily suppose. The P^^^^^'^'- 
interpretation of nature and also of mind is a process of 
dissecting ; and after we have torn to pieces, we are liable 
to deceive ourselves by concluding that the pieces are the 
reality. But the results of scientific analysis give us not Reality con- 
the concrete reality, but abstractions, yet of course abstrac- abstract* 
tions that have a meaning for reality. They describe real- But why is 
ity, but each one only in its own one-sided way. Reality is abstract? 
always infinitely more than any one of these abstractions. 

Yet, on the other hand, we felt that we had to follow 
this line of analj'-sis and abstraction though it took us away 
from the concrete reality. But why do we have to do so ? 
Why is science a system of abstractions ? To learn this 
we shall have to learn what knowledge is and why knowl- 
edge must take just this form. 

Again, we have maintained throughout that the laws Again, how 
which science discovers hold of reality universally. Still, know*that 
at the same time, nothing could be clearer than our con- laws hold 
elusion : Science can interpret reality only in part and not 
as a totality. Surely the world in its infinite processes 

329 



330 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

can never be under our direct study ; yet somehow we 
seem ready to assert that what is true of one part is true 
of all, for we interpret nature as an infinite sj'^stem of atoms, 
each of which obeys the laws of conservation and causa- 
tion. By what right have we done this ? No direct 
observation of nature could give us sufficient data for such 
stupendous conclusions. How can we then be sure that 
these principles of science have universal validitj^ ? Here 
is certainly a new problem upon which we should reflect ; 
and as we shall see, it is a problem that will draw us into 
the study of knowledge and its validity. 
Is Here we are speaking of the validity of knowledge, 

^"ud?^*^^^ Yes, science proceeds to interpret the world ; but are we 
sure that such a thing as a valid interpretation is possible? 
May we not even go so far, as thorough thinkers must 
we not go so far, as to ask: Is a knowledge of the world 
possible ? Is science really what it claims to be ? Is it 
trustworthy? It tells us of the future. How, after all, 
can it foretell what is to be ? It tells us what has been ; 
but what has been will never return again. How, then, 
can we be sure what it was? 
Have we not Clearly, our study is not complete, for it leaves us so 
R°\fT*i) many fundamental questions. Of these, perhaps, no one 
Morality, appeals more to us than questions of religion and morality. 
What place ^°^' what becomes of religion and morality if the world be 

are we to such as our philosophical study of science indicates that it 
give them ? 

must be ? Are there other problems, purely religious ones, 

over and above science and her teaching's, or is relio-ion set 

aside by scientific results as worthless vagary ? Where 

does religion belong in our endeavor to know what the 

world is? Where does ethics belong? Where does art 

belong ? 

The longer we think the more do we find for further 
thought, and thus we end our study of metaphysics with 
many questions still unanswered. 

But though our study is far from complete, still we 



CONCLUSION 331 

have reached some very important results. Some of these 
results have already been indicated in our conclusion. 

The world as seen by metaphysics is a world of one infi- our results. 
nite eternal substance. This means that in the act of 
dividing the world into parts we can nowhere make an singuiarism. 
absolute division. It means that there exists between 
each and every element of the world a relationship, so that 
a change in one element brings with it changes in all. It 
means that the world is one organic system. 

Further, we found that the world undergoes all its Theprin- 
changes in accordance with fixed laws of causation. The causation 
law of causation is universal. But amid the changes not aad conser- 
only do laws of causation remain eternally fixed, but also 
certain elements of the changing events themselves — their 
ultimate spatial relationships, their mass and motion. 

Again, the world, as revealed to us, presents two sides Dualism 
that resist all identification, — the world of nature and that 
of mental life. The two are distinct, — the one spatial, the 
other non-spatial. Yet this dualism is not an absolute 
one. The two elements of the world are distinct; but 
still substantially, or causally, they are one, for there is 
complete and necessary uniformity between them, reveal- 
ing their fundamental unity. 

Finally, we had to oppose all attempts to identify the The piiysi- 
secondary qualities with the fundamental characteristics ^ni paTt'^of 
of matter. We did give full support to the mechanical the story of 
theory of nature, and to it even when applied to psychol- ^ ^' 
ogy. Yet this support in no way means to deny the real- 
ity of mental states or of secondary qualities. It means 
that the mechanical theory holds of all the world, but is 
still only a very small part of the whole story of reality. 
Besides the story of the mechanical processes we must tell 
also the story of every other distinct element of the world. 
Each truly exists, and the complete story must therefore 
include the mental world and also the world of secondary 
qualities. 



332 



INTRODUCTION TO rillLOSOPIiy 



But what is 
that con- 
crete reality 
we interpret 
in abstrac- 
tions? 



Volun- 
tarism. 



The fact 
referred to 
admitted ; 
but objec- 
tion to the 
term Volun- 
tarism. 



But before passing to more truly fundamental problems, 
we must try to say something of the concrete reality which 
science interprets only in abstract terms — this reality of 
which a mechanical atomic world-order does hold, but 
which is itself infinitely more than merely mechanical. 
Can we not get a picture of the throbbing, living concrete 
as opposed to the dead, dried-up, changeless abstract? 
Some have compared it to our own life, even to our mental 
life, and especially to our wills. They have said that the 
world presents the same picture as our spiritual life. It 
has all the elements of spontaneous change. The new is 
constantly taking the place of the old, the old changing of 
itself into the new. This doctrine that all is will, is called 
Voluntarism. 

In reply to this view, we admit the facts referred to, but 
hesitate to call them will. The world in the concrete is 
truly one analogous to our wills. Creation is ever taking 
place. Spontaneity describes it as does no other term. 
This picture of a living, throbbing reality we have tried 
to impress upon the reader. But it is dangerous to use 
terms applied in a narrower sense to our mind and to ele- 
ments of our mental life in this much broader sense. The 
world is will, if you choose so to call it ; but it is will in a 
broader sense than psychology uses that term. The world 
is alive, but it is alive in a broader sense than biology uses 
the term. Voluntarism and hylozoism are right, but the 
terms are nevertheless very misleading ones. We grant 
the analogy between reality and spirit, between reality and 
life, but no more. The world contains life and it contains 
spirit. It creates both. There can be no contradiction 
between it on the one hand and life and will on the 
other. 

We may then conclude : The ivorld is the scene of an 
infinite variety of elements undergoing perpetual and spon- 
taneous change, or creation of the new^ yet in so doing retain- 
ing forever as permanent elements certain fundamental 



CONCLUSION 333 

relations^ or laws ; and through these relations^ or lazvs, 
every element is knit together^ some near^ some far, with 
every other element, thus forming a unity wherein all are 
members one of another. Such is the world revealed by 
metaphysics as we turn to our deeper problem, — the 
problem of knowledge. 



PART TWO 

THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE 

(The World as the Object of Knowledge) 

1. The Nature of Knowledge 

2. The Validity of Knowledge 

3. The World as presupposed by Knowledge 

4. The Manifold Interpretation of the World 



I. THE NATURE OF KNOWLEDGE 
CHAPTER XXXVI 

INTRODUCTORY ^ 

We have gone through one great part of the field of TheProb- 
our reflective study, only to find that new and more truly Knowledge, 
fundamental problems meet us everywhere. We have 
thought about the world that science interprets but have 
not answered the deeper question: What is science itself? 

1 Literature on the Theory of Knoivledge. 

The student who desires to begin a serions study of epistemology is 
advised to read carefully The Theory of Knowledge, by L. T. Hob- 
house. London, 1896. This work treats of many topics belonging rather 
to logic ; but the student will find in it a clear presentation of important 
problems and good means of becoming acquainted with further literature. 
If he desire to study logic along with his study of epistemology, he will 
do well to master Sigwart's great work : Logic, by Dr. Christoph Sigwart, 
Translated by Helen Dendy. 2 Vols. London, 1895. [Logik, von Dr. 
Christoph Sigwart, zweite Aufiage. Freiburg i. B., 1889 and 1893.] This 
book, too, will introduce him to further literature. 

But he will soon find that a knowledge of the history of the problems 
is essential ; and for this, much time would be needed. Such a study 
would require the careful reading, in order, of Locke's Essay on the 
Human Understanding ; Berkeley's Principles of Human Knowledge ; 
Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, Book I (of the Understanding); 
or Hume's Enquiry concerning Human Understanding. Next he will 
need to undertake the hard task of carefully studying Kant's Critique 
of Pure Reason. 

This reading may, however, be greatly shortened for him by choosing, 
instead of the complete works, the following editions of selections : — 

Selections from Berkeley, by A. C. Eraser. Oxford. 

In Series of Modern Philosophers, edited by E. H. Sneath. Henry 
Holt & Co. 

(1) Locke, by J. E. Russell. 

z 337 



338 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

or that most abstract and general of all questions : What 
ultimate truths about the world are assumed in our very- 
attempt to know it? We have talked somewhat about 
the ideals and the task of science ; but we have not 
determined whether or not these very ideals are more 
than vain air-castles built by man's ambition but quite 
beyond his realization ; whether or not science can accom- 
plish the very task she claims to be doing. We have 
not determined : What are the powers and the limits of 
knowledge ? 
The prob- You and I depend upon our minds to know this world, 

bvthr^^ and that means upon our organs of perception and upon 
Senses. our ability to reorganize the data that we get by per- 

ception into the system that we call knowledge. To 
know, we are necessarily dependent upon our organs of 
sense, for without them all would be to us a perfect 
blank. Rob us of our eyes, our ears, our sense of touch, 
how little should we know of the world in which Ave 
live, pjut may we not ask : Are these very instruments 
of perception to be trusted? The philosophers of old 
used to doubt it and urged all manner of evidence to show 
how untrustworthy the senses are. Nowadays we have 
little patience with any one that seriously urges such evi- 

(2) Hume, by H. A. Aikins. 

For Kant. Prof. John Watson's Selections from Kant. 

For Histories of Philosophy, cf. Note to Chapter LVII. 

The general student is referred for further reading to Paulsen's 
Introduction to Philosophy, to Professor Watson's An Outline of 
Philosophy, and to John Caird's An Introduction to the Philosophy of 
Eeligion. New edition. Glasgow, 1901. 

Among important writers on the Theoiy of Knowledge are the 
following : — 

Bradley, Appearance and Reality. 2d ed. London and New York, 
1897. 

Riehl, Der philosophische Kriticismus und seine Bedeutung fiir die 
positive Wissenschaft. Leipzig. 1876-1887. 

Ormond, Foundations of Knowledge. London and New York, 1900. 

Sir Wm. Hamilton, Lectures on Metaphysics. 

W. Schuppe. Erkenntnisstheoretische Logik. Bonn, 1878. 



INTRODUCTORY 



339 



dence; but then, are we justified, in so doing? Did not 
the ancient thinkers find a real problem? Was it a 
wholly foolish one ? Evidently not. Our senses do cer- 
tainly deceive us now and then. Not merely clo we all 
have dreams and illusions, but some of us are color-blind. 
Then again, think how one-sided our whole sensorial sys- 
tem is. Think how many objects in the world without 
wholly escape our perception. They are hidden from our 
view, or they are too small or too large to be properly seen. 
Who of us ever saw the earth as a whole ? Who has seen 
the chemical atoms? Who has seen the imponderable 
bodies in surrounding space? Now, if there are so many 
things whose existence we only infer but never perceive, 
how many, perhaps infinitely many, things are there about 
us whose very existence even escapes our knowledge. 

But there are many other questions besides that trouble The prob- 
the philosopher. You and I perceive the objects about us in^a world" 
and so know them. But why do we perceive them ? transcend- 
Clearly because they make impressions upon our brains mhids. 
through our organs of sense, and then give rise to mental 
states in our minds. May we not therefore rightly ask. 

Among the treatises on logic reference should be made to the 
following : — 

Jevons, The Principles of Science. 2d ed. London, 1877. 

Venn, The Principles of Empirical or Inductive Logic. London, 1889. 

J. S. Mill, A System of Logic. Ratiocinative and Inductive. London, 
1843. 9th ed. 1875. 

Herm. Lotze, Logik. 2d ed. 1880. English translation, ed. by B. 
Bosanquet. 2 vols. 2d ed. London, 1888. 

Wilhelm Wundt, Logik. Bd. I. . Erkenntnisslehre. 2d ed. Bd. II. 
Methodenlehre. 2d ed. Stuttgart. 1893-1894. 

Benno Erdmann, Logik. I. Elementarlehre. Halle a. S, 1892. 

F. H. Bradley, The Principles of Logic. London, 1883. 

H. A. Aikins, The Principles of Logic. New York, 1902. 

Historical Note. Though the Theory of Knowledge is as old as 
philosophy, still it does not become a differentiated discipline till the 
eighteenth century. It became so above all in Kant's Critique of Pure 
Reason and to a less extent in the previous writers, — Locke, Berkeley, and 
Hume. Cf. Chapter LVII. 



340 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The prob- 
lem : Is 
thought a 
valid 
process ? 



whether or not our minds have before them merely mental 
states and never the real world without our minds ; for 
this world only gives rise to our perceptions and is not to 
be identified with the perceptions themselves. Thus the 
image of this book now in your mind is not the book 
itself. If you shut your eyes, the image passes away, but 
the book does not. Then, again, if you walk away from 
the book, say you are standing in a long hallway, the 
book keeps looking smaller and smaller as you proceed, 
till finally it becomes a mere speck in the distance. 
Clearly, the book is not like the little dark object you see 
two hundred feet away. Clearly, what you see is the 
book as it appears to you, not the book as it is. Thus we 
may raise the startling question : Is the world not one 
thing, and what you and I perceive quite a different 
thing? Do we really perceive the world, or is it only the 
world as it appears to our minds that we perceive, a sort of 
reflection of the world? The world is without our minds, 
our perceptions are within our minds, or, as the technical 
phrase runs, the world is objective and our thoughts are 
subjective. Can we know an objective world, or are we 
limited to the revelations of our own minds, to the impres- 
sions the objective world makes upon our minds? And 
then, do we know whether or not the objective world is 
really like the world our senses cause us to perceive ? 

But deeper problems still remain to trouble us. We 
may bring into question not only our source of informa- 
tion about the world but also the process by which we 
transform the data of sense into knowledsre. Do our 
minds in reasoning or drawing inferences about the world 
go through a process that can be accepted as thoroughly 
trustworthy? Do they conflict with the very laws we 
accept as the axioms of rational thinking? Our study 
will show us that in interpreting the world we presuppose 
many things about it; that is, take many thoughts for 
granted. Sometimes our minds seem to presuppose prem- 



INTEODUCTORY 341 

ises we should like to question — premises that never get 
the justification fairness would demand. Or, again, some- 
times our reason seems to go outside of its evidence and 
to draw conclusions about an objective world never actu- 
ally given us in the data of sense. 

Then, too, there remains one other most important prob- The prob- 
lem. We have been talking all alons: about science. Are ^e'"^?/*^® 

° manifold 

there not other fields of knowledge than science ? There interpre- 
are, indeed. We may say briefly : There are three other JeauSr?^ 
great fields of knowledge, — religion, art, and morality. 
Now may not these also be called into question ; and what 
is more, may not and do not controversies exist between 
some of them? In fact, we are all familiar with the 
phrase, "The warfare between science and religion." What 
does this warfare mean ? Does it mean that science alone 
has the right to be called knowledge ? that there is no 
legitimate place for religion ? Why should there be a 
warfare? Are both valid, but different, answers to the 
same question ? Or are they different answers to different 
questions ? In short, is science the only true interpreta- 
tion of the world, or are these other three partners in the 
great work of knowledge ? 

We thus find four great classes of problems yet to be There thus 
dealt with : first. What is the nature of knowledge ? sec- ^J^^^^ ^^"^ 
ondly. What establishes its validity ? thirdly, What are its problems, 
ultimate premises? and fourthly, Are there several ulti- 
mate ways of interpreting reality? 

Now the science or discipline of philosophy that under- They form 
takes to answer these four questions is called the Theory J^^tter oT*" 
of Knowledge, or Epistemology. We may then say that the Theory 
epistemology is the science of knowledge in general, that ^^g^^ 
is, of knowledge considered apart from any special in- 
stance of knowledge. We may express this thought less 
abstractly and more clearly thus : It is the science of 
those problems of knowledge that are present in all pos- 
sible examples of interpretation, be they science, art, reli- 



342 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



A restate- 
ment of its 
problems. 



gion, or any other form. Thus, the Theory of Knowledge 
is the science of knowledge in general as the interpreter of 
reality. This science forms the subject-matter of our 
second part. 

But can we not likewise state more definitely the prob- 
lems such a science is called upon to solve ? The defini- 
tion will help us to do so. First, knowledge claims to be 
an interpreter, therefore we must ask: What is it to inter- 
pret? What is the nature of interpretation? But fur- 
ther, knowledge, or interpretation, involves a claim, for all 
knowledge claims to be true ; in fact, it is in all the world 
the one thing that we speak of as true or false. It assumes 
a responsibility, and on this account we call it true or false, 
according as it fulfills or fails to fulfill the office it has 
undertaken. To express the same truth otherwise : Knowl- 
edge claims validity for itself. Now what is meant by 
truth and validity, and does knowledge fulfill the task it 
has assumed ; is knowledge true to the standards by which 
it is to be judged ? These questions form a second prob- 
lem, which we may call that of the Validity of Knowledge. 
Yet again, knowledge is not only an interpreter; it is also 
an interpreter of the world. That is, we first laid emphasis 
upon the word " interpretation " in our definition ; we now 
lay stress upon the word, " world," or " reality." What is 
involved in the claim of knowledge to be the interpreter of 
the world? What is this world or object that knowledge 
starts out to interpret? From what ultimate standpoint 
does she undertake her task ? Does she start out with any 
definite conception of the world already formed ; in other 
words, does knowledge make any presuppositions about her 
object before even commencing her own work of interpreta- 
tion? Does she start out with her work planned out be- 
fore her ? In short, what is the picture of the world that 
we should get did we question knowledge carefully in the 
act of starting out upon the work of interpreting the 
world ? This problem we shall call accordingly : The 



INTRODUCTORY 343 

World as Presupposed by Knowledge. Finally, there 
seem to be four great types of knowledge that claim to 
interpret reality. Are tlie}^ equally valid? Thus, finally, 
there is the fourth problem : In how many ways can the 
world be interpreted ? 

Thus we have four problems constituting the field of 
epistemology : — 

1st. The Nature of Knowledge, 
2d. The Validity of Knowledge, 
3d. The World as Presupposed by Knowledge, 
4th. The Manifold Interpretation of the World. 
We shall now pass to the study of the first. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 



THE ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE 



All Knowl- 
edge con- 
sists of 
Judgments, 
not psy- 
chologically 
but episte- 
mologically 
speaking. 



The first general answer to the question, What is the 
nature of knowledge ? is this : All knowledge consists of 
judgments. Let us try to see whether or not the answer is 
correct. 

In the first place, this statement ma}^ surprise those of 
us who remember that the most usual form in which knowl- 
edge exists is what psychology calls perception, and that 
it would be bad psychology to call a perception as such a 
judgment. How are we to reconcile the teaching of psy- 
chology that most knowledge does not take the form of 
a judgment, with the assertion that all knowledge consists 
of judgments? Perhaps this will be clear at once when 
it is said, we mean by our statement that all instances of 
knowledge perform the same office as does a judgment, in 
short, are the full equivalent of a judgment. Then, too, 
knowledge is always responsible for its content in just the 
same way as is a judgment. 

Let us see whether or not this is true. When we take 
the expression of the child, " Bab}?- wants," as it stretches 
forth its hand toward some object on the floor, we have 
surely for all of us the equivalent of the adult's request 
that the given object be brought to him. It is true that 
the child has not in words asked us to pick up the ball 
from the floor and to hand the ball to it ; but for the intel- 
ligent companion it has said something fully as useful 
under the circumstances, and as a consequence it is just 
as likely to get what it wants as though its speech were 
developed. So, though the words are not the fully 

344 



THE ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE 345 

expressed request, they are an equivalent, and can there- 
fore be transformed into such a request. In fact, they are 
so transformed by the intelligent listener. In the same 
way, no matter what the psychological form may be in 
which knowledge appears, it is always the equivalent of a 
judgment expressed in full. Another way of saying this 
is, that all Tcnoivledge would take the form of a judgment, 
did we express in words explicitly all that it implicitly 
asserts. 

But why does the theory of knowledge bother with this 
question ? Because, if we are to study knowledge as an 
interpreter, or asserter, we must have before us explicitly 
all that is asserted or implied. We must open up all its 
secrets, no matter how hidden or evasive these are. In 
short, to deal with any form of knowledge we must trans- 
form its implicit content into a type of knowledge in which 
this content is explicitly expressed. As long as we do 
not in so doing alter the meaning, that is, as long as the 
resulting expression is the exact equivalent in meaning to 
the original, we have not made any change whatever 
as regards the element we call the interpretation. Of course 
we have altered the words, and we have altered the state 
of consciousness, it may be, from a perception to some 
other form. However, we have not in any way altered 
the meaning. Hence, since knowledge when expressed 
explicitly is always in the form of a judgment, we may 
say that for the theory of knowledge all knowledge must 
be regarded as consisting of judgments. 

In doing so we do not wish to teach psychology or in Psycho- 
any way interfere with the results of introspection. From j^udTofour 
the point of view of psychology no doubt most of our knowledge 
knowledge is not in the form of a judgment. Probably judgment, 
most of our knowledge is perception. 

Thus, as we walk along the street, we keep on the side- 
walk and off the lawns ; we do not run into trees or people 
as we pass by ; we avoid trolley cars, waiting for them to 



346 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

pass before we cross over. During all this time our eyes, 
and back of them our minds, are elaboiately interpreting 
the surroundings and thereby guiding our actions. As 
the eyes rest now upon this object and now upon that, our 
minds at once perceive the one as sidewalk, the other as 
grass ; the one as a tree, the other as a fellow-being ; the 
one as a distant car, the other as a rapidly approaching 
one. The work done is very accurately and successfully 
done ; but unless we think carefully we are apt to forget 
how great that work is. Unless we have studied psy- 
chology, we do not notice how much preparation, or edu- 
cation of our central nervous system, is presupposed in 
the marvellously rapid, easy, and efficient mental activities 
that these perceptions of ours are. But this truth is just 
what we must not fail to notice in philosophy ; for here 
we are most concerned, not with the problem. With how 
simple a form of consciousness nature performs a marvel- 
lously complicated work, but rather with the problem, 
How wonderful a work nature performs sometimes through 
a simple form of mental life. In any case, just what we 
want to make explicit is the amount of work in the way 
of interpretation accomplished by that something which, 
no matter what its form, we call knowledge. When we do 
express this explicitly, it will always be necessary for us 
to do so in the form of an elaborate sj^stem of judgments. 
We should certainly find it very hard to express it in the 
form of gestures, and we should surely be unable to do so 
accurately and fully. Language alone forms the means 
that nature has so far devised to do this work. Accord- 
ingly, to give a completely explicit expression of the 
implication of our knowledge, we shall be forced to make 
use of language, and that means, of sentences. Now eveiy 
sentence that contains or implies an assertion, as we know 
from our logic, is called a propositio7i. Thus we may 
say: All knowledge is for philosophy a judgment or its 
logico -linguistic equivalent, a proposition. Thus our 



THE ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE 347 

original question, What is the nature of knowledge? 
becomes now the modified question, What is the nature of 
judgment ? 

To answer our last question. What is the nature of The three 
judgment? we must analyze judgment into its elements, fuj^^i^me^nt*^ 
But before we are able to do so, we must be informed 
what is meant by an element of a judgment. An element 
of a judgment is whatever is necessary to its being a judg- 
ment at all, or from our point of view, an interpreter. So, 
whatever is necessary to any judgment as an interpreter is 
an element of judgment. 

To return to our former question, there are three such (a) The 
elements : First, a judgment to be such must have some Knowiedo-e 
object to interpret. An interpretation of nothing whatso- or the Given, 
ever is no interpretation at all ; that is, to interpret, we 
have to have a problem to solve, a question. What is this. 
What is that? Now the "this" or the "that" point out 
to us the object about which we are to judge. Were they 
not pointed out to us, or did we not perform this office for 
ourselves, clearly we should have no need, and no power, 
to interpret. So one of the things, or elements, involved 
in all interpretation is the object to he interpreted. This 
must he given to us in some way. It must be before our 
mind. It must stand there revealed to our consciousness. 
Otherwise, knowledge were like a meteor dashing through 
space but going no whither. Nothing would be there to 
determine its course. In fact, it would be rather like an 
object going in an infinite number of directions at one and 
the same time ; whereas we know that motion at any one 
instant must be along a straight line in but one direction. 
In short, a judgment without an object of interpretation is 
impossible. Now the technical name of the object of 
knowledge in general is The Griven. 

The second element of judgment is, of course, the actual (b) The 
interpretation itself. That this must be present is a tation^hiseif 
truism. as such. 



348 INTRODUCTION TO rillLOSOrilY 

(c) The Thirdly, we have as the final element those laws, or 

^^owkdee'^ rules, that a judgment must obey in order to be true, for 
its claim to be true is an essential element in every judg- 
ment. In its very claim to be true, it makes itself respon- 
sible for having accomplished something. What is this 
responsibility? Naturally, if we find knowledge ever 
inconsistent with its claims, we bring it at once into ques- 
tion. Consequently, this responsibility takes on the form 
of rules, or laws, or again canons that judgments must 
obey or else be untrue or false claimants of the respect 
they demand. To disobey these laws would therefore be 
treason to knowledge itself. These laws, then, or as we 
shall call them, the Principles of Knowledge, form the 
third element of judgment. 

Thus the answer to our question, What are the elements 
of knowledge? runs. The Qiveyi; The Knowledge, or Inter- 
pretation itself ; and thirdly, The Principles of Knowledge. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

THE GIVEN, OR THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE ^ 

We have found that in any given instance of knowledge The dis- 

there are always present the two elements that we may *^eeii*tjie^' 

call respectively The Thing Known and The Knowledge of terms, The 

the Thing. The former is the object of knowledge ; the Knowledge 

latter, the knowledge of the object. Let us take, for exam- and The 

1 • • p 1 1 '• IT 111- Knowledge 

pie, my recognition oi the object that 1 now hold in my of the 

hand. I say that it is a pen. Now what I call the pen O^^J^ct, 
and what I call my recognition of it are two entirely dis- 
tinct things. The former is something quite independent 
of my present knowledge. It might have existed had 
I never been born; and it might be here on my desk 
though no human being were in the room. Thus its exis- 
tence is one fact by itself, and my recognition of it is 
another fact again by itself. The one belongs to a world 
quite apart from my own consciousness ; the other is a 
state of mind that formed part of my conscious life as I 
looked at the pen. 

The subject of this chapter is the epistemological prob- and between 
lem concerning the object of knowledge ; and our first pa^pt^a^^' 
thesis is that the object of knowledge is always some fact. Truth. 

1 Literature. 

On the subject of this and the following chapter the advanced student 
is referred to the following books : — 

Hobhouse, The Theory of Knowledge. Part I, Chapter I. 

Sir Wm. Hamilton, Lectures on Metaphysics, Lectures XII and XXIII. 

Bradley, Appearance and Reality. Chapters XIII, XIV, and XV. 

Marvin, Die Giltigkeit unserer Erkenntniss der objectiven Welt. Halle, 
1898. 

349 



350 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Object 
of Knowl- 
edge is 
always a 
fact. 



Proof of 
this propo- 
sition. 



Our thesis, of course, presupposes the truth which we have 
already proved, that in all cases of knowledge we know 
some object. To this truth it adds the new statement, This 
object is always a fact. 

The word, " fact," is one surely familiar to all of us ; 
but doubtless we often use it in a different sense from that 
in which our chapter now employs it, for as a rule, we 
employ the term simply as sjmonymous with the word, 
" truth." Somebody doubts the truth of our account of 
this or that experience ; and we remonstrate, " No, it is a 
fact; it happened just as I told you." 

Here, however, we shall try to keep the two terms, 
"truth" and "fact," sharply distinguished. A truth is a 
correct interpretation of some fact. What claims to be a 
truth, but is not, we call false, or erroneous. What is held 
to be a fact, but is not, we say, does not or did not exist. 
A fact is, then, whatever exists or has being. In history, 
the men and women whose lives are described are facts, 
whereas in most fiction they are not such. Thus it is 
that when we claim that what we have said is a fact, we 
should mean that no question whatever has been raised, 
concerning our interpretation of what occurred. The 
question at issue was solely : Did the event itself take 
place? Did Shakespeare write the plays attributed to 
him ? Here it is a question of fact, not a question of inter- 
pretation. Of course, if we appeal to other facts as testi- 
mony, then we introduce the interpretation of these new 
facts into the controversy ; but our thesis in the begin- 
ning involves solely a question of fact. Thus, the original 
thesis maintains that the object of knowledge is always a 
fact ; that is, always exists. In still other words, every 
object of knowledge is always some real or existing thing. 

If we think a moment about this proposition, we are 
very likely to reject it as false ; but a longer consideration 
will surely enable us to see how true it is. The reader 
might say : Of course your pen is a fact, and so is the 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 361 

paper on which you write. Hence, you say quite truly 
that the objects of your recognition in this case are facts. 
But let us suppose that you are on the other side of the 
room and are short-sighted and see something lying on 
your desk. You think to yourself that it is a pencil, but 
as you come forward to pick it up you discover that your 
pencil proves to be a pen-holder. Where now is your fact, 
for surely no pencil exists? In this case, the reader would 
surely at once see his error. The fact I was interpreting 
was there all the while. The error clearly consisted in a 
misinterpretation of a fact. The fact I was interpreting 
pencil, I should have interpreted pen-holder. 

Still the reader may object. What here is quite evi- 
dently true, is not so clear did we instance illusions, hallu- 
cinations, and dreams. In a quotation Professor James 
makes from Reid we have such a possible claimant. Keid 
says : — 

" I remember that once lying abed, and having been put 
into a fright, I heard my own heart beat ; but I took it to 
be one knocking at the door, and arose and opened the 
door oftener than once, before I discovered that the sound 
was in my own breast." ^ 

Now in this case was the object of knowledge a fact or 
not? But what was the object? Surely, the noise. The 
noise existed, but the mind of Mr. Reid misinterpreted the 
noise. What should have been called heart-beating was 
called knocking at the door. Again, in a similar quotation 
from Delboeuf : — 

"The illustrious P. J. van Beneden, senior, was walking 
one evening with a friend along a woody hill near Chaud- 
fontaine. ' Don't you hear,' said the friend, ' the noise of a 
hunt on the mountain ? ' M. van Beneden listens and dis- 
tinguishes in fact the giving-tongue of the dogs. They 
listen some time, expecting from one moment to another 
to see a deer bound by; but the voice of the dogs seems 
1 James, Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XIX. 



352 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

neither to recede nor approach. At last a countryman 
comes by, and they ask him who it is that can be hunting 
at this late hour. But he, pointing to some puddles of 
water near their feet, replies : ' Yonder little animals are 
what you hear.' And there were in fact a number of toads 
of the species Bombinator igneus. . . . This batrachian emits 
at the pairing season a silvery or rather crystalline note. 
. . . Sad and pure, it is a voice in nowise resembling that 
of hounds giving chase." 

Here, too, a noise that actually exists is misinterpreted. 
Yes, you say, but in hallucinations and dreams such is no 
longer true. Then the object is purely imaginary, and no 
corresponding fact exists. But do not let us be too hasty. 
In an hallucination what is it that we assert, and what is 
it that proves to be false? Take a concrete case again 
from Professor James' book : — 

" When a girl of eighteen, I was one evening engaged 
in a very painful discussion with an elderly person. My 
distress was so great that I took up a thick ivory knitting- 
needle that was lying on the mantelpiece of the parlor and 
broke it into small pieces as I talked. In the midst of the 
discussion I was very wishful to know the opinion of a 
brother with whom I had an unusually close relationship. 
I turned round and saw him sitting at the farther side of a 
centre table, with his arms folded (an unusual position with 
him) ; but, to my dismay, I perceived from the sarcastic 
expression of his mouth that he was not in sympathy 
with me, was not 'taking my side,' as I should then have 
expressed it. The surprise cooled me, and the discussion 
was dropped. 

" Some minutes after, having occasion to speak to my 
brother, I turned toward him, but he was gone. I in- 
quired when he left the room, and was told that he had 
not been seen in it, which I did not believe, thinking that 
he had come in for a minute and had gone out without 
being noticed. About an hour and a half afterward he 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 353 

appeared, and convinced me, with some trouble, that he 
had never been near the house that evening." 

Surely, you will not maintain that the-brother-sitting-in- 
the-chair opposite the young woman was a fact. No, in- 
deed, that certainly was not a fact. But before we judge 
too quickly, let us ask whether or not that really was the 
object of knowledge in the given case. Her error arose 
not in seeing the image of her brother sitting in the chair 
opposite, but it was in being misled by her vision. Her 
error lay, and lay only, in mistaking an hallucination for a 
normal perception. In very truth she did really see what 
she describes, but the vision was not a perception justify- 
ing her in maintaining the actual existence of her brother 
in the room at the time. There lay her error. Had she 
said, " I have such and such a vision, but it is only an 
hallucination" (in short, had it been what James calls a 
pseudo-hallucination), she would have made no mistake. 
If this be true, surely the object of her interpretation would 
exist in either case. If it had been a true interpretation, 
surely that object would have existed which was being 
interpreted ; but the same object is being interpreted 
in any case, that is, in the erroneous as well as in the 
correct interpretation. 

But take another example. " I took a walk yesterday 
afternoon." Some one that was with me the whole day 
may object and say, " No, you did not take a walk yester- 
day, but you stayed home the whole day ; it was the day 
before yesterday that you took the walk." "Here," you 
will say, "is an example where the object is not a fact. 
The walk you took is after all no object at all; namely, 
yesterday's walk is pure imagination on your part." You 
are quite right ; " yesterday's walk " is pure imagination on 
my part ; but here again let us first make sure whether or 
not this is the object or the false recognition of the object. 
I think we shall find it to be the latter. Now, what is the 
object that I am recognizing here? Is it not a state of 
2a 



354 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

mind, called memory, the remembrance of some walk that 
I took ? This remembrance takes the form of a remem- 
brance of a walk yesterday. So far my recognition was 
correct. Had I said, " I remember distinctl}^ though my 
memory may mislead me, having taken a walk yesterday," 
then I should not have made an error. I do remember; 
the trouble is, my memory is not in agreement with what 
actually occurred yesterday. The error was therefore in 
regarding my memory as trustworthy in informing me of 
what happened yesterday. In other words, I recognized 
my memory as trustworthy when in reality it was not 
such. I really did have such a remembrance. The re- 
membrance, however, was not trustworthy. It ivas none 
the less a fact. The fact, however, I did not recognize 
correctly. 

Clearly we should get the same result did we appeal 
to any other hallucination or to a dreani. The error can 
consist only in mistaking something for what it is not. 
As a mere vision, or state of consciousness, we should call 
it neither true nor false. It is when we consider the 
further claims all such states are liable to make that we 
discover error. This error, did we examine it, would 
always be found to consist in a wrong interpretation of 
something ; and the something, from the nature of the 
case, must be a fact. 
Error lies Thus in all these cases if we ask ourselves. Where does 

not in the ^^ie error lie? we shall have to maintain that the knowl- 
object but 

always in edge is at fault, not the object itself. In fact, we have 
taSon of^r come upon a fundamental truth. In all cases of knowl- 
edge we err or are correct in our knowledge., that is to say, 
our knowledge is true or false. The object of knowledge, 
however, is never true or false. Whether we be right or 
wrong, the thing we recognize or think we recognize 
remains the same. If Ave see an object and a savage sees 
the same object, and if we recognize the object as a watch, 
and if the savage does not know what it is, but finally 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 355 

calls it an animal, the object in both cases is the same, 
the knowledge differs. We do not say the object mis- 
takes, is false ; but we regard the knowledge of the sav- 
age to be at fault. Thus, inasmuch as the object of our 
knowledge is never regarded as true or false, but only the 
actual knowledge itself, therefore we call the objects facts. 
They are facts because we never find them, and never can 
find them false. No matter how many times we may multi- 
ply the cases, the result will always be found the same. 
The object we know is a fact ; the knowledge, or inter- 
pretation of the fact, is that alone which may be called 
true or false. 

We may express the whole thesis in a more abstract 
way. For our knowledge to be true, it must be a correct 
interpretation of something. Were it an interpretation of 
nothing whatsoever, how could we presume to call it true ? 
Again, if it be a false interpretation, it must be an inter- 
pretation of something actually existing; otherwise, why 
should we call it false ? An interpretation of nothing 
whatsoever we do not honor, even with the name false- 
hood; rather, we call it nonsense. Thus it is only because 
our words claim to be a true interpretation of some actu- 
ally existing object that we can call them either true or 
false. 

The facts with which our consciousness is always onthecon- 
furnishinsf us are the foundation of all proof. When I tia'^y *iiese 

° ^ objects or 

make a statement and any one doubts what I say, he has a facts form 
right to ask me. Where are the facts ? Before requiring fo^n^^ation 
his consent to my statement, I must tell him just how he of all proof, 
can get hold of these facts, or I must do my best to bring cation, 
the facts to him. I make the statement, " Yonder, on top 
of the mountain, stands a log cabin." My eyesight being 
better than his, he fails to see the object that I see, and 
from some further ground perhaps doubts the truth of my 
statement. He asks, Where are the facts ? I answer. If 
we walk straight ahead for fifteen minutes, you will clearly 



356 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



They form 
our prem- 
ises, and so 
are called 
the Given. 



The prob- 
lem then of 
Ancient 
Scepticism, 
the Decep- 
tion of the 
Senses, we 
can set 
aside. 



see the object, the fact ; or, again, if you look through this 
glass, you will clearly distinguish it amid the cluster of 
trees. He sees the object. I have pointed out to him the 
fact. He is intellectually satisfied. 

It is the same with all our knowledge. It is a knowl- 
edge about facts, and is proved true and can only be 
proved true by an appeal to facts. Whoever fails to 
observe the facts must fail to see the proof. Our sciences 
are examples of this. We have our text-books, but the 
most important part of our learning is in the laboratory 
itself, where no man's opinion but the facts themselves 
persuade us of the correctness of the teacher's views. It 
matters not what this laboratorj^ is. It may be the chemi- 
cal laboratory, or the wide world itself ; it may be our own 
after life, or it may be what we can get only b}^ turning 
our eyes inward on our own conscious states and seeing 
what they look like. In all the sciences, then, we are inter- 
preting facts. Our interpretation to be true must agree 
with the facts. Showing that our interpretation does 
agree with the facts is the proof of our interpretations. 
But you see in all this one thing is never called in ques- 
tion, namely, the fact itself. We may doubt whether the 
scientist can show us the fact; but the fact present is 
something given, is a premise that we have to accept. We 
can never find fault with him that founds his knowledge 
on facts. If his knowledge be supported by the facts, that 
is the most we can require. The facts then form the 
premises of knowledge, the ultimate premises. They 
never give rise to a petitio j^^'incipii. For this reason 
they are called the Given. ^ 

That the universe is the object of our knowledge, that it 
is, in other words, the material given us to interpret, and 
that the task of our knowledge is interpretation, this is 
the belief of our times. Deception is always the work of 

1 The remainder of this chapter is taken largely from my Syllabus of 
an Introduction to Philosophy. 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 357 

judgment, or what can be transformed into a judgment. 
As Descartes told us long ago, a proposition, as such, is 
not false, it is the assertion of the proposition that makes 
it true or false. The rising of the sun in the west is, as 
a mere thought, neither true nor false. Quite different, 
however, is the assertion that the sun rises in the west. 
We are not bothered to-day, as the Greeks of old were, 
about the deception of the senses. The problem for us is 
different. The senses, as such, do not and cannot deceive. 
The senses can inform us as they will, their whole 
information and their contents are one and the same. 
As such, why call them true or false ? It is not what the 
senses give us that causes the trouble, it is what we do 
with their contents. My dreams are not false, nor is a 
novel false. We do not charge the author of a romance 
with falsehood, nor have we any right to hold our dreams 
as such. The romance becomes an untruth when it is 
asserted as history. The dream becomes false when it is 
confused by us with the sense-perception of the waking 
state. It may be that we are so used to believe and to 
assert what we see and touch that in the dream itself we 
never question what it is, but accept it as waking sense- 
perception. The fault here, however, does not lie with 
the dream as such, but with our acceptance of it, or better, 
our misinterpretation of it. 

But do not my senses deceive me when I walk plump 
into a mirror, thinking that a passageway extends before 
me ? Not at all. The information the senses give me in 
this case is just as little deception as in any case. The 
trouble was not in any information the senses gave me, 
but in the way I accepted and interpreted that informa- 
tion. It never occurred to me to ask: Is this picture 
before me a reflection ? Had I thought a moment, I 
should have found that the information of my senses 
harmonized with the presence of a mirror just as well as 
with the presence of a passageway, and possibly even 



358 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

better. My error was due to carelessness, or to habit. It 
is seldom that I am placed in front of a mirror whose 
presence is not easily detected. Hence, I have come to 
take it for granted that such a vision as my senses then 
furnished me is to be interpreted " a passage in front of 
me." The fault belongs to what was done with the con- 
tents of sense, or to their interpretation, not to the 
contents themselves. 

Thus we have learned to blame the one really at fault, 
not the unoffending party. The guilty one in deception 
is the knowledge, or the interpretation of the Given. 
Were the Given always rightly interpreted, no fault could 
be found. All would go well, and the universe would soon 
cease to have secrets unrevealed to us. Science would 
soon have reached its goal, a complete knowledge of reality. 

But we all know full well how far we are from the reali- 
zation of this ideal. Yes, we know more, too ; ^ve know 
that we shall never realize it. But why so? If correct 
interpretation is all that there is needed to gain what we 
want, why can we not gain it? The reason is rerj soon 
found. To interpret we need more information than the 
senses at any particular moment give us. Hence, inter- 
pretation means a careful and endless search for new facts 
to help us know the old ones. As we learn morallj'- only 
by hard experience and many a mishap, so also in science 
do we learn only by ceaseless labor to see in the contents 
of sense what is there given and what is not. Without 
wide and varied experience, chairs, food, friends, and self 
would be as little known by us as are all the individual 
grains of sand on the seashore. To interpret then means 
careful watching of the object that we seek to know better, 
and a vast amount of knowledge about other objects, too. 
Were this not so, the goal of knowledge had long ago been 
reached. 

But a new question arises here : How are we furnished 
with facts? How are they given us? 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 



359 



It is at once evident that the means whereby we gain 
their possession is our consciousness. As opposed to the 
inanimate world about us, you and I are aAvare of the world 
in which we live and of which we form a part. Robbed 
in any way of that consciousness, vv^e lose at once part of 
the world that beforehand was revealed. Thus, did we 
lose our eyesight or our hearing, the world of light or the 
world of sound would be lost to us forever. But as we 
have also seen, our mind does more than merel}' reveal to 
us the world in which we live and move and have our 
being. It interprets the world, and the way in which it 
interprets that world is through judgments about it. 

How are we to distinguish between these two acts of our 
mind, between the consciousness that reveals or makes us 
aware of the facts and the consciousness that interprets 
these facts? 

At the first sight the problem seems an easy one, for 
psychology tells us at once of a great class of mental 
states that do reveal the world, but are not judgments, 
namely, our perceptions. Hence are we not to hold that the 
acts of mind by which facts are revealed correspond to 
what psychology calls perceptions ? Are we not to say that 
error rises solely where judgment exists, and that any cog- 
nitive state not a judgment cannot be regarded as true or 
false, but must be held to give us facts ? Let us first see 
what this question means. First of all, we may hold that 
unless we make some assertion about something, unless, in 
other words, we say something about it, there is nothing 
done on our part that could possibly be regarded as false. 
For instance, we may hold that if I see an object across 
the room, it does not matter whether there really be such 
an object there or not, provided that I seeing it do not 
make the assertion that the object is there. We cannot 
be convicted of error because we happen to have a vision 
or a dream. The error makes its appearance first when we 
assert in some way, either so others can hear us or to our- 



Answer, 
through 
coDScious- 
uess. 



But con- 
sciousness 
also in- 
terprets. 



How shall 

we dis- 
tinguish be- 
tween the 
two acts of 
mind? 



One answer, 
facts are 
revealed 
through per- 
ception. 



360 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This psy- 
chological 
division 
does not 
hold 

epistemo- 
logically. 



selves, that we really see normally that of which we have 
a vision. 

This theory is certainly false when stated in the form 
that what psychology calls a judgment must first be made 
before error or truth may be ascribed to our cognitions. 
This is wholly to mistake the most usual form of our cog- 
nitions. Most of them contain no judgment whatsoever, 
and no one can rightly hesitate to call them true or false, 
unless he change the ordinary meaning of these words. 
When from the other side of the room we see a pencil, 
and, coming nearer, find that it is a pen and not a pencil, 
our perception is held to have been false. Our perception 
was not merely a vision of the object, it was a recognition 
of it. If we walk straight along a passageway and sud- 
denly run against a mirror, we certainly have made a 
mistake. The mistake was evidently that we recognized 
something as a continuation of the passageway which in 
reality was a mirror. We had a false perception. In other 
words, psychology shows us that much simpler cognitive 
states than judgments must be called recognitions. They 
are recognitions because our previous experience goes to 
make them up. It is not our first meeting with the object, 
but in some of its elements perhaps even our millionth. 

Thus no matter what the psychologist may call a judg- 
ment, we must call any form of cognition that does the 
work of a judgment, a judgment in so far as to ascribe to 
it truth or falsity. We must claim that any event whatso- 
ever which leads us astray, which, in short, is for us a false 
interpretation of something, that this event is false ; that 
further, any event which is for us a true interpretation, 
which equals or serves the purpose of such an interpreta- 
tion, is a truth. 

Hence we may answer the question under consideration 
as follows : Perceptions, being always to some extent a 
recognition, or an interpretation, are to be regarded as 
true or false. We must then not confuse the object with 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 361 

our perception of it. Our perception can be false, and 
looked at from this point of view is not a fact. 

But what gives us the facts? You say, "What I per- Our per- 
ceive is not a fact because it may be true or false, how are form a two- 
we to get at the facts at all ? " For our present purposes ^^^*^ office: 
we had best answer, Our perceptions are in character two- give and 
fold. They give us the fact, hut along with the fact its ^^^erpret 
interpretation. If we could get back to the early state of 
infancy, where we believe things are seen but in no way 
recognized, then we should be in a position to say (pro- 
vided you regard sensations as cognitions) we have a 
cognition of the object, but a cognition that cannot be 
called true or false, and so must give us fact with no 
interpretation of the fact. But in the developed con- 
sciousness our past experience, stored up in us in some 
way, is constantly at work putting itself into every cogni- 
tion, so that it is an exception of exceptions to have a sen- 
sation that is not any more than a sensation, that is not a 
perception. In other words, we see, hear, and touch things 
which we have seen, heard, and touched hundreds of times 
before, that is, either these very things or things similar to 
them. We see a certain man for the first time, but we 
have beforehand seen thousands of other men. The object 
is no stranger to us. We recognize it at once as a man. 
We, in fact, perceive a man. As psychology tells us, we 
have learned to see objects, to see them distinguished 
from the objects about them, to see them stand out in 
space, to be at a certain distance away. Our developed 
consciousness has become so wonderfully well adapted 
to the greater number of our needs that our perceptions, 
simple as they seem from the point of view of intro- 
spective psychology, perform the office of very elaborate 
interpretations. 

On the other hand, however, we have said that they 
none the less give us, along with the interpretation, the 
facts, or bring us into direct contact with the facts. If we 



362 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



To use epis- 
temological 
terms, facts 
are given us 
by Intui- 
tion, a,nda,n J 
form (psy- 
chologically 
speaking) of 
conscious- 
ness is 
intuition. 



then lay aside (leaving out the question how far this is 
possible) that element of the perception which makes it an 
interpretation and strive to get merely what it tells us and 
stop regarding it or using it as an interpretation, then we 
may say we have come directly to the facts. The facts are 
what our eyes tell us, if we but cease accepting the inter- 
pretation given in our perception as either true or false. 
If we say the object we now see, no matter whether it be 
the book our perception tells us it is or not, is a fact ; this 
illustrates our meaning. Perhaps it is not a book. None 
the less I see an object, no matter whether my interpreta- 
tion be true or false. The object is a fact, I do not care 
whether I be dreaming, normally seeing or having an hal- 
lucination, there the object is. No matter what it is, it is 
a fact directly given. Whether it be a book, a box, a pic- 
ture, or anything else you wish, there it is. I cannot deny 
its existence, because my consciousness directly gives me 
the object as a fact. In short, it is a given fact ; it is not 
something that comes under doubt, nor is it to be dis- 
cussed. It zs, in other words, given. 

Thus we may conclude : No one type of consciousness, as 
psychology classes our mental states, corresponds to that 
act of mind by which the facts of the world are revealed 
to us. Any form of consciousness whatsoever, no matter 
how simple or how complicated it be, psychologically 
speaking, always reveals to us or makes us aware of facts 
belonging either to the world within, our mental life, or to 
the world without, nature. Consequently we shall not 
use any psychological term, hut an epistemological one, to 
describe this state of mind. That term is intuition, or 
simple, or direct, apprehension. Either term is used. 
Now any state of mind, any mental state, intuits or appre- 
hends facts. It may do far more than this all at the same 
time, and both elements may be so organically intergrown, 
or fused together, the intuition with the interpretation, 
that no psychology could even begin to dissect the two 



THE OBJECT OF KNOWLEDGE 363 

apart. Therefore, let it be understood once and for all : 
when we speak of consciousness, on the one hand as a 
revealer of facts, as intuition or as apprehension, and on 
the other hand as an interpreter of facts, we are not refer- 
ring to any psychological division. One and the same 
mental state or psychosis may be both, and moreover both 
beyond the possibility of psychological analysis. 



CHAPTER XXXIX 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 



The World 
of Facts. 



The prob- 
lem, What 
is the ■world 
of facts ? 



That there should be such a thing as knowledge, we 
have seen, there must be also a world revealed to our 
minds. This world is revealed to us as facts. We shall 
call it, therefore, the world of facts ; and because it is 
presented to us to interpret, or given us as the ultimate 
starting-point of knowledge, we may call this world of 
facts, the Given. The two names we can use inter- 
changeably. Thus defined, the Given includes every fact 
in the universe, not only the universe of the past and 
present, but also the universe of the future. Every fact 
that has been, is, and ever will be, is contained under this 
term. Everything that possesses in theory the power 
of being revealed to consciousness is a fact, and as such 
belongs to the Given. Of course, our world with its 
indefinite seons in the past may have existed countless 
ages duringr which its facts were not revealed to mind and 
were not interpreted. However this may be or not be, 
our proposition is in no way concerned. Those facts as 
such would have been knowable, that is, they were some- 
thing that could have been revealed to consciousness and 
interpreted by it. 

But let us try to understand better the difficult problem 
before us. What is this world of facts, what is the Given ? 
What is that ultimate deposit in the way of material for 
interpretMion which is given to our minds? When we 
thoroughly analyze any chosen instance of knowledge, we 
shall find the answer to this question a very abstract one 
and, at first sight, almost absurd — yes, absurd, for we 

364 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 3G5 

shall find that the so-called facts of the past and facts of 
the future are not ultimately facts, and that is the same as 
saying, they are not facts at all. The past and the future 
are inferences that we make on the basis of the present. 

But let us see how all this can be true. We shall have 
to approach our problem from several points of view in 
order to find all that is involved in its correct solution. 
From one point of view, as we have seen, we mean by the 
Given the sum-total of the facts of the universe. From 
another, we mean whatever can be revealed to our con- 
sciousness as actually existing. Thus by the Given we 
mean all existence, and this in turn means, all existence 
as far as it can be revealed to our consciousness. 

Let us look at the implication of these abstract state- A concrete 
ments more in the concrete. At this moment I sit writ- dkates^the^"^ 
ing in a college library, and other students also sit reading answer. 
or writing at the different tables near by. About the 
walls there stand book-shelves laden with the volumes that 
form the reference library. From above, through win- 
dows, the light streams into the room. Now and then the 
stillness is broken by the pen of some writer, or by the 
turning of a page, by the heavy breathing of some neigh- 
bor, or by a restless reader changing his position, or by the 
footsteps of some one going or coming. As I sit here, 
these presentations and hundreds of others come streaming 
into my consciousness. They reveal to me the world 
about me. Not only do they form the means by which I 
know where I am, what I am doing, what time of day it 
is, what I must do, the purpose I have in doing the writ- 
ing in which I am engaged, in short, not only do they 
form the means by which I look into my present life, and 
all that makes up that present life ; but more than this, 
they form the material from which I start as I allow my 
mind to wander over my life in the past and recall the 
scenes of days gone by, when I went to school, when I was 
a child, and hundreds of other things that come flooding 



366 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The differ- 
ence be- 
tween pres- 
ent facts 
and facts of 
tlie past and 
future and 
also the not- 
experienced 
present. 



into my mind. More even than this is pulled out or drawn 
out of this great receptacle we call our present experi- 
ence ; for I can wander on and think about what science 
teaches concerning the history of our civilization, about 
the origin of man, about the generation of our continents 
and oceans, and about the coming into being of our solar 
system. Or again, my mind can wander on into the 
future and I can speculate about the years of my life that 
are to come, about the future of our nation, the future of 
our planet, its final destruction in collision with the sun. 
So starting from these experiences flooding into my con- 
sciousness, I can gradually unroll before the mind's eye a 
panorama of a seemingly infinite universe. 

Yet in all this it still remains true that I am sitting here 
at the table surrounded by students, books, walls, light, 
and a world without that is shut off from my view by the 
walls of the room. After all, there is a great difference 
between those things or events that are now actually 
revealed to my senses, and the thousands of things that 
imagination recalls. My speculation about the future may 
not be correct, perhaps the years to come will be far differ- 
ent from the picture which my imagination has constructed. 
Perhaps, too, astronomy and history are wrong in their 
interpretations of the boundless past and future. There 
is, then, a marked difference not only between the pres- 
ent which is and the past which now exists no longer 
together with the future which has still to be, but also 
between the present things and events that are directly 
revealed to my consciousness and those things and events 
that my mind only tells me exist without the library build- 
ing in the immediate neighborhood, and on and on through- 
out the miles and millions of miles that stretch from this 
room out into every direction of space. This marked dif- 
ference between the present actually revealed to my con- 
sciousness and the present not revealed to it, along with 
the non-existent past and future, is the difference between 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 367 

what is for me a fact and what is only a fact believed in. 
The one is a fact now given or presented to my mind. The 
others are facts that somehow my mind tells me about, but 
does not reveal to me in the same sense as it reveals the paper 
and pencil, the desk, the room, the books, the students. But 
why is it I do believe in their past or future or present ex- 
istence, though my mind is so limited in its ability to per- 
ceive ? Clearly, the reason is because I believe that somehow 
those things and events could have been revealed to my 
mind in the past or can be in the future, just as now these 
immediate surroundings are revealed. It is true, I can never 
walk the streets of Rome with Julius Caesar, I cannot go 
to Palestine on one of the crusades. It is true, my experi- 
ence will never reveal the formation of our solar system. 
It is true, I cannot experience the arising of a great conti- 
nent out of the sea. It is true, I cannot see the popula- 
tion of the planet Mars, if there be such a population. It 
is true, I shall not see the other side of the moon, nor 
shall I see the earth gradually drawn in toward the sun. 
and the final collision of the mother sun and her daughter 
planets. Yet somehow, though these experiences will 
never be mine, there is still a sense in which I can say 
that they can theoretically be mine. It is true, practically, 
I can never see them ; still it is also true that if I were 
there I should see them, if I had been there I should have 
seen them. Though it be true that no human being has 
witnessed or will witness most of these things and events ; 
still it remains none the less true that they are such things 
and events as admit of being witnessed. Thus the fault 
does not lie with the things or events ; the fault lies rather 
with your and my inability to come into such spatial and 
temporal relationship with them that we can witness them. 
So, no matter whether the happening in question be now 
and here presented to my mind, or whether it be in some 
far fixed star beyond any power of mine to witness ; still 
both happenings agree in this at least, both admit of being 



368 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The last 
three we call 
facts be- 
cause they 
admit of a 
conceivable 
experieur.e. 



Yet even so, 
a conceiv- 
able experi- 
ence is al- 
ways a 
present 
experience. 



witnessed hy a 7nind, if that mind come into proper relations 
to them. In this sense, both they and all like things and 
events admit theoretically of being witnessed, of being 
seen, touched, or in some manner experienced. Theoreti- 
cally they lie within a possible experience. It is true, that 
practically they do not. It is true, we have missed our 
opportunity to see many. It is true, we never had an 
opportunity to see countless hosts of them. It is true, we 
shall not live to see like countless hosts in the future. 
Still, though we miss, and though we never have, the 
opportunity, it remains true that the opportunity alone 
was needed to have made them, or to make them, like unto 
these facts now revealed to me in the library where I am 
writing. 

Now by the Given we mean all the facts of the universe, 
all these things that theoretically belong to an actual or to 
a possible experience. We call them all facts only for this 
reason. Were they not regarded by us as falling within a 
theoretical experience, we should not call them facts. In 
short, were we there and did we not see them when by 
hypothesis we should see them, or similarly not hear them 
when we should hear them ; then we should sa}^ they are 
not facts. If you tell me a horse and wagon are now 
standing on the table at which I write, I have my eyes 
and hands or similar organs of sense to fall back upon to 
prove conclusively to myself that no such fact exists, and 
so to regard your statement as absurd. 

Now let us regard our problem from another point of 
view. It is true, as we have just seen, that all these things 
and events are facts because they admit of being experi- 
enced. But how experienced, or rather when experienced ? 
Forsooth, if they are to be revealed in any way to our 
minds or to any mind, they must be revealed as then and 
there existing. By the very constitution of your mind 
and the world itself, if we see anything we see it then and 
there. I cannot literally see the past or the future, but I 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 369 

see what is now at this veiy moment revealed to my vision. 
Hence it must be, that it" by some magic process the pano- 
rama of all the past and all the future, as well as the pres- 
ent, is to be revealed to us, it all must be revealed to us as 
a present experience. To say I see the past is an absurdity. 
It is somehow a contradiction on the very face of it. When 
I say I see the past, I mean that I now have a vision that I 
interpret as a picture or representation of the past. But a 
present picture in my mind is no more the past than you 
are the same concrete entity as your photograph, or no 
more the past than you are now the same concrete, material 
shape and substance as your reflection in a mirror. Hence, 
were the past revealed to us, somehow time would have to 
be rolled back again just like the photograph in a kineto- 
scope. Instead of going from present to future as we are 
doing, we should have to go in the opposite direction, from 
present to past ; and just as now at each moment what was 
the future is becoming the present, so then what is the past 
would have to become the present. Truly to have Julius 
Csesar revealed to us, our magician would have to make us 
live literally nineteen hundred and fifty years ago, in short, 
would have to annihilate this period and bring back to ex- 
istence the past which was once a present and make of it 
again a present. 

Of course to say he could do so would be sheer nonsense, Iq short, to 
for the past is forever past. The world is so constituted nfeanHobe 

that the mill of time " can never grind with the water that a present 

fact, 
is past." Hence the past is irrevocably gone. But the 

future also is irrevocably absent. As future it can never 

be ours. Thus we are by the very constitution of our mind 

and of the world limited to the four walls of the present, 

and therefore the facts that admit of our experience are 

only present facts. For them to he facts revealed to us they 

must he present facts. Thus it is we are forced to say, if 

we mean by the Given the sum-total of facts as far as they 

fall within a possible experience, the Given must be present 

2b 



370 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



And this 
means that 
" the world 
of facts " 
for each one 
of us is the 
content of 
conscious- 
ness at the 
moment. 



facts. We can talk as much as we will about to-morrow's 
sun, to-raonow's sun does not exist and will not exist until 
" to-morrow " has become " to-day," nay, rather " this pres- 
ent instant." The fact of yesterday's sun has gone forever, 
and it could come again into existence only by " yesterday " 
becoming "to-day." But in both cases, neither "to-morrow" 
nor "yesterday" are "to-day," and you and I, reader, live 
"to-day." The world as revealed to you and to me is 
always revealed " to-day," never to-morrow, never yester- 
day. When we say we live in the past or in the future, 
"we do not speak the truth, but deceive ourselves." The 
past and the future of which we speak are but the pictur- 
ing now, to-day, that takes place in our minds. 

Here is one of philosophy's mysteries. You and I, as 
we sit contemplating these problems, are unfolding out of 
our present experience our knowledge of the boundless 
world of the past and of the future. It is the present 
alone that reveals to us the past, it is the present revela- 
tion alone that reveals to us the absent present, it is the 
present alone that reveals to us the future. Out of the 
little storehouse we call our present mental life, we un- 
ravel whole worlds of events. We talk and think about 
worlds that came into being through countless ages and 
of M'orlds that have for countless seons ceased to be. So 
also from out this little storehouse we take the picture of 
a boundless world surrounding us in space, — our city, our 
country, our continent, our earth, our solar system, the 
sidereal world, and endless space. In doing so, we that 
live in the " to-day " are absolutely confined to the " to- 
day." We are forced to do all our constructing by means 
of what our minds reveal to us now and here. If our 
minds refuse to do this, we fail utterly to accomplish our 
mental construction of the world in wliich we live. Thus 
our information, our intellectual capital, is our present con- 
sciousness and, which is the same thing, its content. The 
world in all its infinity is pictured to us by means of these 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 371 

present bits of information, and without them we could do 
nothing. Hence we are forced to draw this mysterious con- 
clusion : The world of facts for each one of us is the content 
of consciousness at the moment ; and all that loe call this greats 
boundless tvorld is for each of us hut the co7istruction of our 
mind working over the facts given or univeaving the elements 
stored up in the contents of the present. 

Of course this does not mean that the world of the past The facts re- 
and of the future is in any way a delusion. Not at all. ^^e present 
It means simply that as we deal with that world, interpret form the 
that world, or in any way come into relation to that world, s^ry of the 
we always have to do so by its representative in the pres- ""^orid. 
ent, by its mediator in our present consciousness. Thus 
the world of facts for each one of us is just the sum-total of 
facts revealed to our minds in the preseyit. This makes up 
all our information. This makes up all upon which we 
base our story of the world. A being to whom all the 
past, present, and future were one unending and ever 
present experience is inconceivable. We finite beings, at 
any rate, must depend upon, or rather are shut up within 
the " to-day," or, better, the " immediate present." 

But now for a final look at our problem from a different The past 
point of view. In all our knowledge we are interpreting ^^^ infer- 
the facts revealed to our present consciousness. We never ences whose 
interpret literally facts of the past or of the future. That the present. 
is, if we talk about the events that have been, we are 
always interpreting not the past fact, but its present repre- 
sentative in our consciousness.^ 

When I say that I took a walk yesterday afternoon, I 
am not in the last analysis interpreting yesterday's con- 
duct, but to-day's representation of yesterday's doings. 
Surely without my memory I should be unable to say 
rationally that I took a walk yesterday. My whole justi- 
fication for my statement is just what I can remember or 

i Cf. Marvin, Giltigkeit unserer Erkenntniss der objektiven Welt, 
Part II. 



372 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

what I now can learn or get in the way of experience. 
Yesterday's fact has gone forever, and therefore cannot 
now be presented to consciousness. Present experience, 
therefore, alone can give me the subject matter of my 
interpretation, "Yesterday I took a walk." Of course 
a fuller or more explicit statement, which reveals this 
truth, would say, " I now remember having taken a walk 
yesterday." In short, I am but describing to you the con- 
tent of my memory. 

Again, when the geologist shows us some geographical 
formation and tells us how it came to be, how the stratum 
was deposited ages ago at the bottom of an ocean extend- 
ing over such and such an area of the earth's surface, he 
is but interpreting for us facts then and there revealed. 
He is giving us the history of just this formation and 
stratum. Surely no other facts but what his vision and 
memory convey are present, so these alone are being inter- 
preted. Just as surely as we say he is interpreting facts 
revealed to his mind, just so surely must it follow from 
what we have seen that all the facts he is interpreting 
belong to the present. They can be called past or future 
only b)^ proxy. It is true they do in some very real sense 
play the part and do the work of the facts that are no 
longer, or are not yet. Still it is also true that the present 
fact is the present fact, and is not either past or future. 
To us it may represent the one or the other, yet literally 
it is neither. Thus we are obliged to say, no matter how 
strange it may at first seem, the world you and I are inter- 
preting is always the world revealed now and here imme- 
diately to our present consciousness. If the world of the 
past and future be given us, it is so only by proxy. Liter- 
ally, the given facts are always furnished bj^ our present 
consciousness. It is this Given that forms the object of 
our interpretation. 

Thus the Griven or the object of inteiyretation is the sum- 
total of facts revealed to our present consciousness ; and this 



THE GIVEN, OR THE WORLD OF FACTS 373 

for each one of us in any mdividual case makes up the sum- 
total of facts. All other facts are there only by proxy. 
They themselves are ever absent^ 

1 This argument is here cut short in the middle. As it stands we have 
only a half-truth for our conclusion ; but to go farther means to take up 
the most difficult of abstract discussions. Strictly speaking, we should 
find that the Given cannot be called even the content of present conscious- 
ness. It cannot be given any limiting designation whatsoever. It is the 
present in the broader sense that includes past, present, and future ; 
in short, it is not the present at all, but is timeless. It is consciousness, or 
the content of consciousness, only in the sense that everything is con- 
sciousness, in short, in a sense that robs this term of all meaning. That 
is, it is not consciousness. The Given is obtained, in short, by robbing 
the interpreted fact of all interpretation and so leaving us the fact, and 
nothing more. The Given is the reality, the absolute, in short, the object 
robbed of every trace of interpretation, relativity, or aught else in the 
form of knowledge. This will be shown us in Chapter XLV, which is 
really a continuation of this chapter. 

For a fuller discussion of this position, I must refer the reader to a 
monograph of mine already referred to. Die Giltigkeit unserer Erkenntniss 
der objektiven Welt, in spite of its unsatisfactory style and presentation 
of the argument. A very short but very satisfactory statement of what 
seems to me exactly like my position is given by Professor Miinsterberg in 
the first chapter of his Psychology and Life, a chapter every student of 
philosophy should read. 



CHAPTER XL 

KNOWLEDGE AND THE PRINCIPLES OF KNOWLEDGE ^ 

After answering the question: What is the object of 
knowledge ? we come to the second question : What is 
it to know, or to interpret this object? What is inter- 
pretation as such? 
To know is We givc at once the abstract answer, hoping to make 
r 1 tion^^ its meaning clear afterward. In fact, we shall give two 
obtaining answers to the question, the one stating explicitly more 
among ac s, ^Yism does the other. The first replies : To interpret is to 
find all the relations that obtain among facts, and these 
relations may all be reduced ultimately to two ; namely, 
those of likeness and difference. The second replies : To 
interpret is to determine the likenesses and differences 
that obtain among facts and on the basis of these rela- 
tions to assert the law of their (the facts') existence. For 
instance, when I call this object a clock, I distinguish it 
from other, objects and identify it with a given class of 
objects called clocks, and henceforth expect it to behave 
in all ways as a clock is known by me to behave. Again, 
if we watch a dog look into a mirror and commence to 
bark and then run behind the mirror to catch " the other 
dog," we know that he has identified the fact his eyes 
have revealed to him with the class of objects, dogs, and 
that he expects the " other dog " to behave as a true dog 
properly should. When the " other dog " does not do so, 
we laugh at the way in which our real dog has been 
fooled. In time he likewise will learn how " dogs in 

1 Parallel Beading. 

Spencer, First Principles, Part I, Chapter IV. 

374 



KNOWLEDGE AND ITS PRINCIPLES 375 

mirrors " behave, and will know better, and will not ex- 
pect them to behave as real dogs. 

The difference between the two answers we have given 
is ultimately a difference in words. Did our interpreta- 
tion really stop at the mere classification of facts, it would 
be useless or nearly so. You and I, to get along in the 
world, need more information about objects than their 
likenesses and differences for the moment ; and, therefore, 
the very purpose we have in view when we compare two 
facts is to determine how far we can predicate of the one 
all we know about the other. In short, when we try to 
know some strange fact, we try to learn not merely what 
it is, but what we are to expect of it ever afterward. We 
want to find out the laiv of its existetiee. 

But after all, this fuller definition may be found in the and this 
shorter one ; for two objects or facts would not be truly ™^of their 
alike unless they continued to be so in the future. It is existence, 
not enough for us to find a and b now alike when we 
know that in a moment they will be different. Their 
future is always taken into consideration when we compare 
them, and hence if we say that they are alike, we mean 
also to say that they will be alike. The same law of ex- 
istence or history belongs to both. Our comparison of the 
two would lose almost all its significance did we not keep 
their future resemblances and differences in view. Then, 
too, no one can foretell the future of any object except by 
determining the presetit likenesses and differences between 
it and other objects, the law of whose life we do know. 

However, we shall begin our study by investigating 
knowledge as defined in the former definition. Let us 
study knowledge, then, first as a comparison of facts. 

In our experience we find certain facts similar and The uiti- 
others not similar. It is as though a stranger who had ™^*o^ng^re 
never before seen a deck of playing cards were to pick one likeness and 
up. He looks through the pack. First he notices that 
the cards are of two colors, one red, the other black. Next 



376 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

he looks through the red cards and finds that some have 
on them diamond-shaped spots, others heart-shaped ones. 
These also he separates into two packs. He looks again 
through each of these packs and finds that one card has 
but one spot, another two, another three. Thus he goes 
through the whole deck and finds that each card has cer- 
tain characteristics that make it different from all the 
other cards, yet at the same time no one characteristic not 
possessed at least by three other cards. Thus he can 
speak of the aces, of the kings, of the diamonds, of the 
spades, of the black cards, or of the red cards. Each card 
always belongs to some one of these classes. Yet no two 
cards agree in being black and spades and aces all at once. 
This, or a similar combination, makes the card different 
from all the others. Whereas, being an ace, a king, a 
club, or a red card marks its similarity to the other cards. 
A similar truth holds in the universe of facts. In becom- 
ing better and better acquainted with the world we notice 
here or there differences between facts, at other places or 
times similarities between facts. The result is that facts 
soon come to be known facts, defined and differentiated 
facts. They come to be more and more " facts like other 
facts " and " facts unlike other facts." 

Thus, all our concepts, or their equivalent in language, 
terms, are instruments to denote those facts that agree in 
some respect. For example, aces mean those cards having 
but one spot, kings, those having on them a certain figure. 
But inasmuch as concepts denote those facts which have the 
quality or qualities in common, they exclude those which 
fail to have them. Hence the word " ace " excludes the 
deuces, and ultimately all things that fail to be aces. In 
short, it brings together all things alike in the quality in 
question, and separates them from all other things.^ 

1 Inasmuch as they denote the things having these qualities in common, 
they are often said to connote the qualities themselves. We call the 
members of a class of objects denoted by a term its extension, and the 



KNOWLEDGE AND ITS PRINCIPLES 377 

From this description knowledge seems to be a sorting The com- 
of the facts of the world, and an ordering of them into all Letltkm^' 
manner of groups. Of course, one and the same fact may of any fact 
, , 1 1 u 1 i T^i. ' would be to 

belong, nay, always does belong, to many groups. 1 hus give its in- 

an ace is a card, is red or black, is hearts, diamonds, finite re- 

lations. 
spades, or clubs. But even this statement we shall have 

to extend. As far as we know, the possibility of placing 
one fact into many groups is infinite, for no fact in the 
universe is totally without some similarity to every other 
fact, and it would even seem that to find a difference be- 
tween facts means there must be some similarity. Facts 
absolutely dissimilar are incomparable, and absolute dis- 
similarity, as we shall find, is an absurdity. But at the 
same time, absolute likeness would be equally an absurd- 
ity, because two things that were absolutely alike would 
be one and the same thing. In some respect they must 
belong to a different genus, even though both belong to 
an indefinite number of the same genera. 

Thus to know a thing accurately and completely we 
shall have to show its likeness to everything else in the 
world and all its difference from everything else. Until 
this is done, our work of interpretation is not complete. 
But such a task is infinite ; for it will require a compari- 
son between our given fact or facts and all the other facts 
of the past, the present, and the future. Thus a complete 
knowledge of any one fact is for a finite mind impossible. 
It would give all the different classes to which our fact 
belongs ; and these would be so many that by their endless 
number combined, giving all likenesses and differences, 
they would completely differentiate the fact from all 
others and yet give its likeness to all others. ^ 

qualities connoted its intension. Still whether we use a term in its 
extension or its intension, we are always making a comparison and 
asserting likenesses and differences. 

1 To do this we have to analyze it into all its elements. This alone as 
we have seen makes comparison possible. Thus right here we have 
the ultimate basis philosophically of the atomic theory. 



378 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Princi- 
ples of 
Knowledge. 



Consistency 
as a Cri- 
terion of 
Truth. 



But con- 
sistency 
means, as 
such, con- 
sistency for 
all time ; 
and thus the 
whole past 
and future 
are 

necessarily 
brought into 
every com- 
parison we 
make. 



In doing this work of interpretation or differentiating, 
there are three fundamental rules or principles that knowl- 
edge employs. These are called accordingly the Prin- 
ciples of Knowledge, or the Laws of Thought. But inas- 
much as there are other principles of knowledge, some 
philosophers very rightly call them the Formal Principles 
of Knowledge or the Formal Laws of Thought; and in 
contradistinction, the others, which we shall study later, 
are called the Material Principles of Knowledge, or, as we 
prefer to call them, the Principles of Reality. 

The former, or the laws of thought, are familiar to us 
all from our study of logic. They are the Principle of 
Identity, the Principle of Contradiction, and the Principle 
of Excluded Middle. The Principle of Identity is usually 
stated thus : " What is, is," or " A is A." The Principle 
of Contradiction is : " Nothing can both be and not be," 
or " A is not not-A ; " and the Principle of Excluded 
Middle, " Everything must either be or not be," or " A 
must be either B or not-B." These laws might be called 
the laws of consistency. They state merely what consti- 
tutes consistency and require that if knowledge is to be 
knowledge it must be consistent with itself. Thus these 
laws reveal to us one of the great characteristics of knowl- 
edge, its claim to be always consistent with itself. Truth 
never contains or tolerates inconsistency, and therefore 
one of the chief criteria of truth is consistency. 

Now the very fact that knowledge claims to be ever 
consistent is the basis upon which her enemies, or the 
skeptics, attack her. Naturally, the only way in which 
any one can attack knowledge would be to show that she 
is not what she claims to be. Here, then, we see the prob- 
lem arising that we shall have to study later. Is knowl- 
edge really consistent? Does she really do what she 
claims to do ? 

But we have still other elements of knowledge to point 
out. Knowledge according to our fuller definition not 



KNOWLEDGE AND ITS PRINCIPLES 379 

only compares facts, but asserts, as a result of that com- 
parison, the history, or law of existence, of each fact that 
she is interpreting. In so doing knowledge always goes 
beyond the present, and therefore seemingly beyond the 
facts as given it, and tells about the time to come. It 
transcends the present and predicts the future. 

Psychology tells us how this characteristic of knowledge 
gives it a value for our lives. Adaptation to environment 
demands that we should ever be preparing for the future, 
in fact, that is what we mean by an animal's adapting it- 
self. Now one of the chief instruments of adaptation which 
nature has brought forth is knowledge ; as it enables us to 
foresee, and to foresee is to be forewarned, and to be fore- 
warned is to give us time to prepare for the future, to 
protect ourselves, to flee, to pursue, or otherwise to make 
secure our welfare. 

Hence, whenever we know, or interpret, we predict how 
the object is to act, what is to be its future. Whenever 
we call an object a horse, we are not merely comparing 
some present fact with other facts now given us, but we are 
bringing into our judgments future facts. Thus should we 
find a moment later that the object before us did not agree 
with the qualities of a horse, we should at once say : "We 
must have been mistaken, for this object is after all not a 
horse. It seemed so at a distance, but now we see that it 
is a cow." 

Had we truly confined ourselves to comparing the facts 
originally present, surely no new facts would have altered 
our conclusion or rather have interfered with its validity. 
But somehow we never do confine ourselves to the imme- 
diate present. If I call a fact a horse, a dog, a man, I 
mean to assert that for all time to come the fact in ques- 
tion will keep consistent with the character I have asserted 
of it. Or more accurately expressed, when we describe a 
fact, we are sure that all future facts will prove in harmony 
with our given description. But why should we care a 



380 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Thus knowl- 
edge be- 
comes the 
assertion of 
eternal 
laws of 
existence. 



Straw about future facts when we say, " Yonder stands a 
house " ? Clearly we should care, for our statement means 
to tell us about the future. Did we come near and find a 
large rock, we should say that it could not have been a 
house, for houses do not turn into rocks as we approach 
them. Likewise, in the case of the dog looking into the 
mirror. The " other dog " did not live up to the character 
ascribed to him. He did not act as real dogs act, other- 
wise he would have been found behind the mirror. 

Thus, whenever we make any assertion about a thing, 
calling it a house, a dog, a horse, a man, a seed, a planet, 
we mean that it will always act as these various objects 
are supposed by us to act. We never mean by the expres- 
sion, " Yonder stands a house," that my present impression 
of the object exhausts all I know about it and all I mean 
to affirm of it. I mean that the object in question will 
always prove true to my present judgment. 

This is but saying, that ivhat is true is always true. 
Whatever is true from my present point of view must be 
proved true from every other possible point of view. When 
I call this a house, it must be a house in the judgment of 
my fellow-men and in my own future judgment. Even 
millions of years from now it must prove to have been a 
house. 

When we make a comparison, we do so not for the 
moment, but for all time. It must be true to-morrow just 
as it is true to-day. A truth is an eternal verity. If a be 
J, then from all eternity to all eternity it is true that a 
was h. This does not of course mean that the world itself 
is the same from moment to moment. However, it does 
mean that truth is eternally the same. If it be true that 
Julius Caesar lived, it must be just as true a million of 
years from now as it is to-day. Consequently, whenever 
we assert a truth, we assert it as being so to all eternity. 

Still otherwise expressed, in all our judgments we are 
making ourselves responsible intellectually for all time to 



KNOWLEDGE AND ITS PEINCIPLES 381 

come. That is, we are to be held rationally accountable 
for a series of facts in harmony with our judgment and for 
the absence of all facts that would be out of harmony with 
our judgment, and this for all time to come. 

Now that endless series of events forms the proof of 
our assertion. It is true that yonder object is a house if 
all future facts are in harmony with my assertion. There- 
fore just these future facts constitute the proof of my 
assertion. Further, this endless series of facts may be 
called the endless law of the existence of the object inter- 
preted. We are asserting, of course, in a limited way, 
what the object will do under given circumstances for all 
eternity to come, or the eternal law of its being. Should 
any future event not harmonize with our law, then our 
law is imperfect and so also is our original assertion which 
was but the law. All our judgments are the assertion of such 
laws. From experience we have learned how this object 
and that object act ; and when we find another object that 
is like one of them, we assert that it will always act as our 
past experience has shown us the object to which we have 
likened it did act.^ Thus to know or to interpret, is to 
determine the likenesses and differences that obtain between 
facts, and on the basis of these relations to assert the law 
of the existence of these facts. 

1 Cf. Die Giltigkeit unserer Erkenntniss u. s. w., Part II. 



II. THE VALIDITY OF KNOWLEDGE 



CHAPTER XLI 



Our new 
problem. 



Two chief 
charges 
against the 
validity of 
knowledge. 



THE EELATIVITY AND INFINITUDE OF KNOWLEDGE AND 
ITS VALIDITY 1 

We have now learned what is meant by knowledge or 
interpretation. To know is to compare one object with all 
others, and on the basis of this comparison to assert the 
law of the object's existence. 

But if this is knowledge, two very serious charges may 
be urged against its validity. To compare one object with 
another is in truth to learn how they are related, but is it 
to learn what each object is in and for itself ? If I call 
this object a dog, I have told you how it compares with other 
objects ; but have I told you what it is irrespective of other 
objects, what it is as a reality all by itself? Then, too, inas- 
much as the facts are infinite in number, we are called upon 
to compare each fact with an infinite number of facts. 

Moreover, to know is not merely to compare, it is to 
make assertions about the future existence of the object 
interpreted. Now, as we have learned, the future is never 
given us in perception. Yet we make assertions not merely 
about the future, but also about all the future. We look 
forward to all eternity as we ascribe to each object the law 
of its being. Thus knowledge claims for itself an infini- 
tude truly startling. Likewise in interpreting the past, 
knowledge claims to be able to deal with objects that exist 



^ Parallel Beading. 

Spencer, First Principles, Part I, Chapter IV. 
Appearance and Reality, Book I. 

382 



Cf. also Bradley, 



RELATIVITY AND INFINITUDE OF KNOWLEDGE 383 

no longer. How can knowledge get beyond the bounds of 
the present and know a world extendmg back indefinitely 
into the past and on into the future ? 

From these various charges urged against knowledge 
we may formulate two chief indictments. First, knowl- 
edge does not interpret the facts as such, but gives 
us only their relations. Moreover, knowledge claims to 
interpret and so to relate not only the facts of the present, 
but also the countless facts of the past and future. The 
problem raised by this charge against knowledge we shall 
call the relativity and infinitude of knowledge and its 
validity. This problem forms the topic of the present 
chapter. 

Secondly, knowledge goes beyond the information fur- 
nished it in present consciousness, and claims to know the 
past and future, which, as such, lie outside of its data. 
This problem we shall call the transcendent element in 
knowledge and its validity. This problem will be the sub- 
ject of the following chapter. 

To know is to compare, to learn the relations obtain- i. Tiie reia- 
ing between one object and all other objects. But to do ^^nowieiige. 
this is an endless task, none the less such is the goal of 
knowledge. How far we are from reaching this goal, we Knowledge 
all know full well. Yes, we know more, too. We know ^p^f ^^^^ 
that we shall never reach it, for to reach it would require relations 

. , , , . £ r J. between ob- 

us to interpret every tact m the whole universe oi lacts. jects fails to 
But even thouo-h we did thus interpret all facts, should we teiiusof the 

, , . . objects 

thereby unfold to view the real nature of the object inter- themselves 
preted? If to know is but to assert the likenesses and as such, 
unlikenesses between one object and all other objects, 
knowledge wins at the best a view only of relations, never 
of the object itself. 

Here before me lies an object. Is it impossible for me 
to say what that object is in and for itself, that is, irre- 
spective of all other objects ? If I call it a book, I am 
but comparing it with other objects. Likewise, when I 



384 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



And further, 
even the 
objects 
seem to be 
no more 
than sys- 
tems of 
relations. 



Thus knowl- 
edge 

appears to 
be ulti- 
mately 
only re- 
lations, in 
short, 
relations 
among 



Reply: The 
argument 
only a half 
truth ; 
Knowledge 



refer to it as made of paper, when I give its title, and so 
on indefinitely, each is but a relation between it and other 
objects. In short, all predication is a comparison, and a 
comparison is finding the relations of one thing to an- 
other. Thus in very truth I am unable to tell what 
this object is in and for itself. 

But further, to know a relation must mean to know a 
relation between one object and another. Yet what are 
these objects between which the relation is said to obtain ? 
Any answer to this question must in turn be but a new 
statement of relations. We know the relations between 
objects, but the objects are themselves as known onl}^ the 
relations between other objects. The book lies on the 
table ; but what is the book and what is the table ? If we 
interpret these, we can at the best give only their relations, 
or the relations implied by book and table. Thus, does not 
knowledge appear to be but knowing the relations between 
relations ; for when we ask. What are the things we 
know ? we get in reply the answer, " The things, too, are 
mere relations." That is, the whole world resolves itself 
as known into a system of relations, and when we ask, 
" Relations between what ? " we always get the same 
answer indefinitely, " Relations between relations. All is 
relation." 

How can such a system be valid knowledge ? A rela- 
tion presupposes two things to be related, and if the things 
themselves be but relations, we are forced to commence 
an endless search for the thing related. But we cannot 
reach the thing. Our system appears to be made up of 
relations between zeros or pure relations, that is pure 
nothing. Does not relativism then have as its conclusion 
complete skepticism? Is knowledge a valid process ? 

But all this time we are forafettinsf one of the most 
important elements in knowledge. That is the Given. 
Knowledge, it is true, as a system of interpretation is an 
infinite network of relations ; but it does not float wholly 



zeros. 



RELATIVITY AND INFINITUDE OF KNOWLEDGE 385 

in the air. It is based on the Given, and it never leaves is a system 
the Given. That is, we interpret facts by finding rela- ^^i^^^^of^ 
tions between them; and reality is so infinitely rich that facts, not of 
these facts form an endless source for new relations. The 
difficulty with knowledge is not that it is a system of 
relations, but that its work of finding relations is infinite. 
Were knowledge a mere system of relations it would 
indeed be an air castle, but it is a system of relations based 
upon the factual, and ever appealing to the facts for its 
justification. If we can show this, the charge against 
knowledge proves groundless. 

Knowledge does find the relations between objects, and 
it is true that these objects in turn may be analyzed by us 
into new objects among which a new system of relations 
may be found to obtain. This we saw clearly in our study 
of the atomic theory. But are these objects merely rela- 
tions ? No, indeed. They are facts revealed to our minds — • 
facts, it is true, that we know only by relating them to other 
facts. But the relation between facts is all we want to 
know and all that knowledge claims to give and ought to 
be asked to give. Knowledge is not merely a great cobweb 
of relations. Knowledge is a system of relations admitting 
of indefinite extension ; but the objects among which the 
relations hold are always facts — facts revealed then and 
there, and demanding an interpretation. Were knowledge 
all, that is, did we ever have merely knowledge without the 
direct apprehension or intuition of the facts, then, indeed, 
the charge brought by relativism against knowledge would 
hold. But as we have shown in discussing the Given, 
such is never the case. There never is a knowledge 
without being a knowledge of some object, and this 
means without the data in the form of facts being 
revealed.^ 

To turn to the second part of this charge raised against 

^ As far as Mr. Bradley's argument could be used by skepticism this 
would be my answer to it. Cf. Appearance and Keality, loc. cit. 
2c 



386 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

u. The In- knowledge. In comparing fact with fact knowledge 

KnTTd^ includes all future and past facts. It relates the present 

revealed object to objects that are not revealed. 

How knowledge can transcend the present conscious- 
ness we shall consider later ; but now we must hold our- 
selves to the one question, How about these past and 
future objects ? They too, we maintain, are facts looked 
forward to as possible revelations to our minds. Hence, 
in bringing absent facts into relation to given facts, our 
knowledge is doing no more than asserting possible per- 
ceptions. That is, when we say of some object before us, 
Knowledge " This is a book," we mean that we now have a certain 
appeal to perception, and that under certain given circumstances we 
the facts shall always have this same or other definite perceptions, 
verify its This will be clearer if we go more into detail. The object 
assertions; before US WO Call a book. Suppose we stretch out our hand 
facts extend and grasp it, but no sense of touch follows. We say at 

through all once, " I must have had an hallucination, that could not 
future time. ^ _ ^ ' 

have been a book." In short, in saying that the object 

was a book, we implied that grasping it would mean a cer- 
tain touch-perception. Again, supposing we grasp it, but 
find quite a different perception of touch to follow from 
that expected, that is, we find it is made of stone painted 
like a book. We say at once, " That is not a book," impl}'-- 
ing that, in calling it a book, we meant that to grasp it 
would be to get a particular touch-perception quite differ- 
ent from what we actually got. Again, if we go near it 
and find that instead of seeing the other side of a book 
we see only a colored picture on cardboard, we say at 
once that we were deceived, and imply thereby that in 
calling the object a book we should upon approaching it 
get a particular visual pjerception. Again, if steadily 
looking at the book it suddenly disappears from view and 
a box takes its place, we say that we must have had 
an illusion, clearly implying thereby that our statement 
meant no such occurrence as the sudden disappearance 



EELATIVITY AND INFINITUDE OF KNOWLEDGE 387 

of the book. Thus, if we examine our knowledge, 
we shall find that the relations therein asserted always 
imply possible future perceptions, and that in any given 
case these perceptions are indefinite in number. 

Now can we define these future perceptions? What 
are they ? As we have said, they form, when examined, 
nothing moi'e nor less than the complete proof of our asser- 
tion. In short, to say an object is a house, a dog, the moon, 
to say that man has evolved from lower types of life, or to 
make any similar statement, is but to assert the possibility 
of certain future perceptions, and these perceptions are what 
we call the proof. That is, knowledge is the assertion of its 
own complete proof, and this complete proof is always sought 
in perception. 

We have now found the full significance of our defini- 
tion of knowledge and the injustice of the charge made 
against knowledge by the extreme relativists. It is true 
that knowledge is a system of relations, but the office ful- 
filled by each of these relations is the prediction of facts. 
Not only does knowledge have ever before it the object or 
fact that it is interpreting, but it does no more than to 
predict facts when it asserts of the given object the rela- 
tions that hold between that object and other objects. 
The whole system of relations is, in short, an appeal to 
facts, and nowhere does it cease to be an appeal to facts. 
The whole work of knowledge is to reveal perfectly the 
world of facts, the facts not only of the present but of the 
past and future, and to order these facts in such a way 
that they may be of greatest service to man. In any 
given case, the full meaning of an assertion is to be 
found by stating explicitly the perceptions that it im- 
plicitly predicts. These form the complete proof of the 
assertion, and they do form the complete proof only 
because the assertion itself was nothing more or less 
than their prediction. 

Proof is, then, always to be found in present and future 



388 



INTRODUCTION TO rillLOSOPHY 



Thus we 
are forced 
to be satis- 
fied with 
probability. 
However, 
this is ill no 
way a just 
charge 
against the 
validity of 
knowledge. 



perceptions. But why in perceptions? Because in per- 
ception we get nearest to the facts. True, perception is 
itself knowledge, and therefore needs itself proof or justifi- 
cation. This forces us to verify one perception by another, 
and that by another, and so on indefinitely. As a result, 
the work of proof in all knowledge is an endless process. 
But the proof itself that is sought is always sought by an 
appeal through perception to the facts. Wherever we are 
satisfied that our perception correctly interprets the facts, 
we accept it as equivalent to the fact, and take it as so 
much final proof. Thus in practice, when we have taken 
hold of the book, opened it, and read in it, we are entirely 
satisfied that our knowledge of it as a book was true. 
Theoretically, however, we have not completely proved it 
to be a book until every fact in the universe implied in 
our assertion has been appealed to, and such an appeal 
means an endless series of perceptions. 

To sum all this up as a conclusion, we get the following : 
To know, is to bring order into the chaos of facts given us. 
This we do by asserting of the facts certain laws. These 
laws assert that always under given conditions certain 
events will happen. The proof, therefore, of knowledge 
consists in the actual occurrence of the predicted event, 
and this means an appeal to future facts. But to interpret 
a fact by asserting of it a law means to affirm an eternal 
verity, for our law must hold throughout all time. There- 
fore our assertion can be completely proved only by an 
appeal to all time. But an appeal to all time requires a 
search for proof that is itself endless ; in short, any in- 
stance of knowledge is, directly or indirectly, an assertion 
about all the facts in the universe, for there dare not be 
one fact in the whole universe and throughout all time 
that contradicts' our assertion. If there is, our law is 
false or needs modification. Consequently, the complete 
proof of knowledge cannot be attained by the finite mind. 
The finite mind is forced to he satisfied with probability/. 



EELATIVITY AND INFINITUDE OF KNOWLEDGE 389 

None the less, knowledge as a whole is an appeal to the 
facts. It asserts nothing except what it claims is supported 
by facts. As such, knowledge is valid. As finite minds, 
we may be obliged to search indefinitely for the facts that 
form the complete proof of our knowledge. This, how- 
ever, is not a theoretical but only a practical difficulty. 
Knowledge as such appeals to the facts ; even though 
knowledge presents to man an ideal that he can but par- 
tially realize. The facts, however, are there. All that is 
lacking is the ability of the finite man to accomplish the 
ideal his knowledge demands. This ideal is the complete 
interpretation of all the facts of the universe by comparing 
them and by placing each fact where it belongs in the sys- 
tem of knowledge. 

But as the facts in such a system of knowledge are infinite 
in number, so also is the task of their interpretation infinite. 
This in no way militates against the validity of knowledge. 
It shows only that its task, to be completed, would require 
an intelligence also that is infinite. It shows that the 
finite mind must be satisfied with probabilities. 



CHAPTER XLII 



To continue 
our argu- 
ment : 



Does not 
knowledge 
always go 
beyond its 
premises, 
and is it not 
therefore in- 
consistent ? 



THE TRANSCENDENT ELEMENT IN KNOWLEDGE AND 
ITS VALIDITY 

From the discussion that has gone before we have 
learned how knowledge looks into the past and future and 
predicates of the present fact the law of its future exist- 
ence. But why may we go bej'ond the present at all? 
Are we not tied down to the facts as directly revealed 
here and now? From the formal principles of knowledge 
taught us in logic, no conclusion dare contain new matter 
or go beyond the information granted in the premises. 
To do so is to be guilty of a non sequitur. Now these 
principles are ultimate and must be accepted, for to compare 
without obeying these principles would really be to make 
an absurd or fallacious comparison. But if any individual 
judgment must keep true to these rules in order to be 
valid, it is a very serious charge to say that knowledge as 
such is always untrue to them. Does knowledge, then, 
contain an element out of harmony with the very prin- 
ciples of knowledge ? 

Now an examination of knowledge does seem to show 
the presence of a real difficulty. In our comparison of 
one fact with another, we assert not merely what is given 
us in the present, or in our premises, for example, that the 
two objects are alike, but also that they will always prove 
alike, that both possess, in as far as they are alike, the 
same law of existence. In so doing we are predicting 
what will be the conduct of our object for all time to 
come. But its future conduct is not given us in the pres- 
ent, that is, at the time we make our assertion. Hence, it 

390 



TRANSCENDENT ELEMENT IN KNOWLEDGE 391 

must be that we are going beyond our premises when we 
include the future in our inference. Still we always do 
include the future, and so we always go beyond our prem- 
ises. This is contrary to the laws of reasoning. There- 
fore, says the skeptic, knowledge is not valid. 

Thus we are brought face to face with a new problem. 
Can the validity of knowledge be shown, can we prove 
that knowledge in interpreting the world does not go 
beyond its premises, but remains always true to the laws of 
reasoning? Knowledge seems to go beyond its premises. 
If what seems true, be true, then knowledge is invalid. 
Therefore, if knowledge prove to be valid, it must be 
because its premises are shown to contain more than the 
skeptic claims they do. 

Our method of showing this may seem strange at first, Reply: 

but further thought will make evident its reasonableness, knowledge 

.... ... "ioss do so, 

We grant that the skeptic is right in maintaining that but must be 

additional premises must be furnished knowledge before f^c^^t^soto* 
the conclusions knowledge is alwaj^s drawing can be justi- do; 
fied. But where are we to get these premises? That is 
the rub. Our reply is : We have to grant them to knowl- 
edge, because not to do so would be to make us skeptics, 
and skepticism we shall show to be an absurdity. 

The programme of our argument is as follows : If skep- 
ticism were right, the world would be unknowable. This 
is absurd. But the world is unknowable unless we grant as 
ultimate premises all that knowledge is forced to presuppose 
about the world. These presuppositions of knowledge, 
which we shall study later, are the Material Principles of 
Knowledge, or the Principles of Reality, and are neces- 
sarily true. 

Firsts then^ let us ask: Is the world knowable, or is the 
position that it is not tenable? 

In answering skepticism let us ask first the simple ques- for the 
tion whether or not the skeptic brings his attack against g^e^tMsm 
all our knowledge or only against some of it. If against is untenable, 



392 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



since it 
would be 
rational 
suicide. 



all, then that very knowledge that even he claims to 
have is untrustworthy. If so, we do not have to answer 
him. In fact, we cannot answer him. But the truth 
iy, he does claim to know something, because he wants 
us to believe him. Then, too, his own daily life 
indicates quite clearly that he trusts his knowledge in 
many ways. But to make our reply more deadly yet : in 
his own life he must trust either his knowledge of the 
world or his belief that that knowledge is untrustworthy. 
If he do either he contradicts his skepticism. In short, 
his knowledge commits suicide. Moreover, as he raises a 
theory against us, we are forced, if we answer him at all, 
to offer some knowledge as an argument. Yet by hypoth- 
esis he will not accept any knowledge. Therefore we 
are unable to meet his arguments. If they are knowledge, 
we are not to take them seriously; if they are not, we 
should refuse to argue further. If we argue seriously, we 
do so against a man that refuses from the nature of the 
case to be argued with. Hence for us skepticism does not 
exist as a possibly tenable knowledge. As knoAvledge it is 
just as little a form with which we can deal as the ravings 
of a madman. As a knowing being the skeptic has com- 
mitted suicide. In fact he has thus saved us the trouble 
of dealing with him. The truth of the matter is this : to 
hold any theory seriously, to claim for any opinion a hear- 
ing, means that you do believe, you do trust, what you 
have to say. It means that you are not a skeptic, but 
claim to know something at least. This in no way asserts 
that all knowledge is true. Perhaps most we know does 
need all manner of revision and correction. Still the fact 
that there is such a thing as justifiable knowledge, valid 
knowledge, at once removes for us this ultimate skepti- 
cism. 

Thus we reach the following results. To ask knowl- 
edge to justify itself in this ultimate way is to raise a 
question entirely beyond debate. It is to talk nonsense. 



TRANSCENDENT ELEMENT IN KNOWLEDGE 393 

You ask ivliere should we be, did we jump outside of space ; 
but the very question tells us we should be in space. You 
ask us how knowledge is possible, how knowledge is justi- . 
liable ; but your very question admits knowledge to be 
both. Did Ave in turn undertake to prove it, we should 
be arguing in a circle, because to undertake to prove any- 
thing is to assume the very conclusion you ask us to estab- 
lish. The answer to the skeptic is, therefore, not to prove 
ourselves right, but to show him that his question is mere 
nonsense. 

No matter where we begin, there always goes before us Ultimately, 
as the very logical condition of our beginning at all, the \^[ Zv&nt 
validity of knowledge, or the knowability of the world in the validity 
some degree. For us all it is a premise; a premise we edgg. 
can neither prove nor question. To do either is to argue 
in a circle. It is truth, absolute truth, unquestionable 
truth. Hence, one of the very first truths we learn con- 
cerning knowledge is that as such it presupposes premises, 
or at least one premise, the knowableness of the world. 

But what do we mean by the knowableness of the world? 
We mean that there is a harmony between knowledge and 
reality. We mean that when knowledge is true, that is, 
obeys all her canons, is consistent with itself in everything, 
that then knowledge is a valid interpretation of the world. 

But do we not mean more than this ? Do we not even 
go to the length of asserting that every presupposition of 
knowledge is as such a valid and unquestionable interpre- 
tation of reality ? Reality as such is a knowable world, at 
least as far as knowledge must assume that we know it. 
Knowledge must be granted its presuppositions. What- 
ever be its ultimate laws, whatever be its ultimate and 
necessary character; it assumes that not only these laws, 
but also that this character in no way hinders it from be- 
ing a valid interpretation of reality. Quite the contrary, 
reality is just that which both these laws and that character 
say it is. 



394 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

Thus we come to the final thesis of our chapter. To 
study the nature of knowledge, to consider her premises, 
is after all but working out the nature of the world as pre- 
supposed by knowledge. This presupposition of knowl- 
edge we have to accept as valid. In short, we are from 
the nature of the case working out an ultimately indispu- 
table, though, to be sure, incomplete, interpretation of the 

and this WOrld. 

means, we y^Q have now Seen that the position of the absolute skep- 

must grant ^ ^ , '■ 

knowledge tic is Untenable. The world is knowahle. This is our First 

premfseT*'^ Axiom of Knowledge. But if the world be knowable, we 

that are had at once to grant a second axiom. Knowledge cannot 

make it ^^ invalid as a process. Now what did this mean ? It 

self-con- meant that whatever premises knowledge needs in order to do 

sistent. ^ ^ ^ tj' i 

These prem- her woric must be granted her jrom the start. Ij ive do not 
ises form the ^'/-aTi^ them, we are at once forced hack into the ranks of ahso- 

Prmciples of ^ _\ "^ "^ 

Reality, or lute skepticism. 

presupposed Thus our sccond axiom of knowledge will run : — 
by knowi- From the knoivability of the world it follows that knowledge 

must he granted all that is necessary to make it as an inter- 
pretation of the ivorld possihle. Hence our next question 
will be : What must be granted knowledge as ultimate 
premises in order that the interpretation of the world will 
be a possibility? What are these Material Principles of 
Knowledge or Principles of Reality ? 

In answering this question in the following chapter we 
shall find that philosophers differ in opinion, and that 
these differences of opinion divide them into two great 
schools, — the Empiricists and the Rationalists. 



III. THE WORLD AS PRESUPPOSED BY 
KNOWLEDGE 



CHAPTER XLHI 



THE PREMISES OF KNOWLEDGE, OR RATIONALISM VS. 



EMPIRICISM 



Knowledge or judgment is an assertion ; that is, it Empiricism 
claims validity for itself, it presupposes a justification for Rational- 
all its predication. Our present problem is: Wherein ism. 
does this justification consist? 

The question has been answered in two ways, and the 
resulting theories are called Empiricism and Rationalism. 
Empiricism claims that facts themselves form the only jus- 
tification for the interpretation of the facts. In short, all 
knowledge is but the prediction of facts, and as a prediction 
it needs no further justification than the facts themselves 
when the time of their coming is present. Rationalism 
finds involved in our knowledge implications that the 
facts themselves can never justify. Therefore to justify 
these implications we must appeal to principles. A prin- 
ciple is self-evident knowledge, or knowledge that needs 
no further justification than our insight. Rationalism 
agrees in part with empiricism, that is, in as far as both 
theories regard the facts as the chief element of proof. 
They differ the one by affirming, the other by denying, 
that the facts form the full justification, or proof. 

1 The great school of empiricism has been that in England, from Locke 
down to recent writers, notably John Stuart Mill. Cf. Weber's and 
Windelbaud's Histories, on English Philosophy. 

395 



396 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



An Exami- 
nation of 
Empiricism. 



According to 
empiricism 
all asser- 
tions are 
only proba- 
bilities. 



But what 
is a proba- 
bility ; and 
how dare we 
claim even 
this for our 
assertion, if 
only the 
present facts 
are given us 
as prem- 
ises ? 



Let us see first how empiricism would enable knowledge 
to gain its acquittal from the charge entered by skepticism. 

In knowing any object, as we have seen, we predicate 
of it some one of the many eternal laws of its existence ; 
that is, we go beyond the present and assert its future life, 
therefore its as yet unrevealed life. What rational right 
have we to do this? Empiricism answers : In predicting 
the law of the future, we assert the law not as something 
we know with surety, but solely as something probable. 
When I call this object a piece of paper, I assert that if 
you hold a lighted match to it, it will probably burn. 
Again, I do not say ivith absolute certainty that to-morrow's 
sun will rise. This 1 know merely as a probability. Only 
to-morrow itself will reveal to me with surety whether or 
not my prediction was true. Nothing I know in the 
present is known with any complete surety, for only the 
future itself can give that. 

But we may ask the empiricist how he comes to know 
that to-morrow's sunrise or anything else is a probability? 
He replies : It is such, because through an indefinite past 
experience things like what I call "day" have always be- 
come " night," and afterward " day " again. We know 
the future as a probability by judging what things have 
been. Every piece of ice that I have put near a hot fire 
has melted ; therefore, every piece will henceforth proba- 
bly do the same thing. The child that puts its hand into 
the fire, gets burnt, henceforth it shuns the fire, believ- 
ing that what has once happened will under like condi- 
tions happen again. The whipped dog crawls under the 
sofa when he sees the raised whip. Why should he ? 
Clearly because he should fear that the consequences of a 
blow will next time be just as painful as last time. So in 
our daily life, we come to know how things act by watch- 
ing them and by expecting to see them continue to act 
just as they have done. In case they do not act as they 
formerly did, we at once inquire, What can be the mat- 



THE PKEMISES OF KNOWLEDGE 397 

ter? For example, if we have some engine and it does 
not work, we at once commence to overhaul it, and unless 
we find some part out of the usual order, we are very much 
surprised. In fact, we should never rest satisfied until 
we had found something out of order. In other words, 
we should maintain that did the engine not work, it must 
be out of order, or that were it in order, it would work the 
same as ever. 

But notice carefully how we are here led into a new 
problem. What is our empiricist saying ? Things always 
continue to act or do as they have done, provided they them- 
selves have not changed, or, as we may say, "are not out of 
order." If the fire burns once, it will always burn under 
the same conditions. If the ice melts once, it will always 
do so again, provided we get the same kind of ice and put 
it just as near to just as hot a fire, and so on. Or stated as 
an abstract law, things always act the same under the same 
conditions. But then our empiricist is assuming as a prem- 
ise this general law which goes along with his knowledge 
just as our shadow runs along with us as we walk. We are 
constantly falling back on this law to justify us, whenever we 
predict, in fact, whenever we interpret. But if we do this, 
is not our law of uniformity, as it is called, an axiom ? 

This we ask the empiricist. However, he is too sly to 
admit it ; for if he did, he would have to give up his em- 
piricism and be a rationalist. So he tries some other 
means of escape that will not force him to yield his gen- 
eral position. He tells us : " This law of uniformity is itself 
nothing but a probability in which we have come to believe ; 
because, no matter where we look carefully and adequately, 
we shall find it to have obtained. In all the past experi- 
ence of our race things have always acted in the same way 
under the same conditions ; and therefore " — Hold ! Do 
not tell us that they always will do so, for whence the 
information ? True, they always have done so ; but if 
you say they always will, because things under the like 



398 INTKODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

conditions act the same, you are guilty of a circulus in 
probanda. Or if you say, because they have done so they 
always will, you are guilty of a non .sequitur. In the 
former case you are leading us around in a circle, a is 
true because b is ; and b is true because a is. Or in the 
latter case, " has been " means " has been," and not " will 
be." "Will be " means "will be," and not "has been." 
To deduce one from the other would be to throw overboard 
the simplest rules of logic. If we may go beyond our 
premises in this way, why, what under the sun can we 
not prove ? 

Thus it comes out: we intrust ourselves to the hands 
of the empiricist; and he leads us along very well for a 
time and all looks auspicious, until, first thing we know, 
we stand on the brink of a precipice where one step farther 
means rational annihilation. If we refuse to take the step 
forward and look about to see where safety is to be found, 
we shall see but one escape. We must accept his law of 
uniformity as an axiom, as self-evident, as true on the face 
of it. Then we have avoided the precipice, but we are 
henceforth no longer his followers, we are rationalists. 

Thus to sum up, we may give the following argument 
in outline as the position rationalism maintains against 
empiricism and as the means it employs to overthrow the 
latter doctrine. 
Summary The empiricist has shown us that when he interprets a 

given fact, he relates this fact to all other facts. Quite 
true. But how does he do so ? Ultimately by predicting 
that the facts forming his so-called proof will exist. What 
right has he to make this prediction ? From the premises as 
accepted by the empiricist he has no logical justification for 
his prediction. All that his premises contain are the given 
facts of the present, and the facts he can rightly claim to 
have belonged to the past. But where in all these facts 
lies the information of what will be ? The empiricist re- 
plies that he is able to predict the future because he has 



of the fore- 
going 



THE PREMISES OF KNOWLEDGE 399 

discovered that the events of the past obey the law of 
causation. That is, as far as his experience informs him, 
the same event or system of events is always followed by 
the same effect. Thus he comes to hold the law that there 
is throughout the realm of nature a uniformity of sequence 
among events. To this, however, a ready reply is made. 
Granting that your experience does show such a uniform- 
ity to have existed thus far, by what right are you justified 
in holding to its continued existence ? Here empiricism 
breaks down. The facts tell each its own content, but 
they in no way warrant us in finding in them more than 
their own content. That is, each has his own story to 
tell, and refuses absolutely to tell the story of any other 
fact. Therefore the empiricist is guilty of a logical fal- 
lacy. He is reading into his facts more than is contained 
there. If he keeps absolutely to his premises, each fact 
would be isolated from every other fact, and could not be 
brought into relation to it. Knowledge as a comparison 
of one fact with all other facts would become an impossi- 
bility for two reasons. First, the only facts given us are 
present facts. Secondly, the past is known through the 
present, and the method by which it is known is one in 
which we go beyond the present. So also the future. It 
can be known by us only through some means that will 
warrant us in assuming what the future will bring. Thus 
without any means of going beyond the given facts of the 
present, the empiricist is not warranted in relating the 
present to the past or to the future. Knowledge crumbles 
to pieces, and we have now before us an undisguised 
skepticism. 

But how does rationalism fare any better than empiri- Thus we are 
cism ? Rationalism claims that knowledge presupposes in ^do'pf some 
all its operations those laws which as premises will give form of 
validity to the conclusion. We must accept either of 
two positions, either that we have premises giving us suffi- 
cient information to draw the conclusions which knowl- 



400 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

edge is obliged to draw, or that we have not these premises. 
The latter position leads to skepticism, which to ration- 
alism is a reductio ad absurdum. In short, rationalism 
claims knowledge as such presupposes certain laws that 
cannot be proved, because to prove them we should have 
to assume them. They are accepted by us on their face 
value, they are in truth self-evident. 

To all this may we not object : How dare knowledge 
trust its insight so far? Rationalism replies: In doing so 
we are in no way trusting knowledge differently than we 
do in accepting the facts as revealed to us. Our insight 
or intuition is the final court of appeal to determine what 
is fact and what is not. So, also, here our intuition is the 
final court of appeal. To doubt its verdict would be the 
same as doubting the facts revealed to our minds. It 
would be the rejection not only of all interpretation, but 
even of the object of our interpretation. 
Our next In this discussion we have taken but one principle 

problem will ^jjgse denial causes the empiricist very serious trouble. 

then be to i: j 

determinti We might have taken others that we shall attempt to 
rationXnr formulate farther on. However, the law of uniformity is 
thus claims the best selection, for it represents the great historical 
sup^sed' corner into which the empiricist has pushed himself or has 
been pushed by others. Hence, we may conclude: If 
we are forced to hold that one axiom at least must be 
accepted, we have proved the one exception that contra- 
dicts the opponent's conclusion. Empiricism is contra- 
dicted, therefore its contradictory, or rationalism in some 
form, is valid. ^ 

1 From the doctrine of rationalism it follows that there can be no 
ultimate difference between deductive and inductive reasoning. We dare 
not rationally draw a conclusion for which we have not full justification. 
But if we have full justification this must consist of premises that 
warrant the conclusion, exactly as in deduction. Hence we have but the 
one ultimate form of reasoning, and deduction and induction can, as types 
of reasoning, be but modifications of this one form. However, to pursue 
this question farther belongs to a treatise and not to an elementary book. 



THE PREMISES OF KNOWLEDGE 401 

Still we must not stop with a mere disproof of empiri- 
cism. If we accept the rationalist's position, it makes us 
responsible for the working out of all the premises, or 
axioms, presupposed by knowledge in its attempt to inter- 
pret the world. These axioms will form an a priori inter- 
pretation of the world ; or, otherwise expressed, knowledge 
starts out with some knowledge of the world that it is to 
interpret. This knowledge we must now seek to discover 
by reflective analysis. 

The following four chapters are devoted to answering 
this exceedingly difficult question. Fearing that the 
beginner may find their arguments very abstruse, I shall 
give here a short summary of what the world is as presup- 
posed by knowledge. 

First, the world is made up of the facts that are 
revealed to our minds through our perceptions. Some 
thinkers (the realists) have thought, and many still 
believe, that there is a world bej^ond, above, or behind 
this world that you and I can see and touch, a transcen- 
dent world. We shall try to disprove any such doctrine 
and shall stoutly maintain that there is nothing in the uni- 
verse whatsoever that does not admit of being perceived 
(idealism), that the belief in a world not thus admitthig of 
being experienced by us is nonsense. 

Secondly, some thinkers who have admitted this conclu- 
sion have said that all the facts that you and I perceive 
are, after all, nothing but perceptions in our minds. 
From the very nature of our statement that all facts are 
given us through perception, they have concluded that the 
facts themselves are nothing more or less than our per- 
ceptions. ^ 

However, did we accept this conclusion, we should have 
to admit the absurd consequence that each man's mental 
states constitute the whole universe. No, the world of 

1 The reader will remember that Berkeley taught this particular 
doctrine. 

2d 



402 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

facts is revealed to us by perception, but it is not to be 
identified with mental states in us or with aught else that 
makes up only a part of the universe. The universe of 
facts is indescribable except as we interpret it by interpret- 
ing the individual facts that it includes. 

This question settled, we turn to the question finally at 
issue : What are the Principles of Reality, the presuppo- 
sitions about the world made by knowledge in attempting 
to interpret it. One of these presuppositions, namely, the 
law of uniformity (including the law of causation and 
that of repetition), we have already noticed. 



CHAPTER XLIV 

THE TRANSCENDENT WORLD, OR REALISM VS, IDEALISM ^ 

We have seen that two answers have been given to the is there a 
question: What must be granted knowledge as ultimate denTworld? 
premises ? and that both resulting theories in spite of their 

1 The terms "realism" and "idealism" have had many meanings. 
The student will do well to consult Baldwin's Dictionary and also Eisler's 
under these terms. 

Historical Note. 

Idealism (in the narrow sense in which we use the term) arose in the 
criticism of the Kantian doctrine, which taught that there is a transcen- 
dent world, but that this world (called by him " things in themselves ") is 
unknowable. Cf. Windelband, History, section 41, and Weber, History, 
section 63. 

Before Kant, both Berkeley and Hume had raised objections against 
the existence of a transcendent substance. Had Hume been thoroughly 
consistent, he would have denied the existence of anything but " im- 
pressions" and " ideas," or the phenomenal world. 

The chief home of realism in modern times was the continent. Its 
most elaborate and dogmatic systems were those of Descartes, Spinoza, and 
Leibniz. 

At the present time the battle between the two schools is still waging. 
In Germany, idealism is sometimes called Conscientialism and also the 
Immanent Philosophy. It is represented by such writers as Schuppe and 
Rehmke, and in general by the Hegelians. 

For further information concerning the different writers and the con- 
troversy in question, the student is referred to : Der Eealismus und das 
Transscendenzproblem, von W. Freytag, Halle a. S., 1902; also to the 
chief Hegelian writers, to T. H. Green, to Edward Caird (The Critical 
Philosophy of Kant), and other English and American writers of this 
school. 

For information concerning the two great post-Kantian idealists, 
Fichte and Hegel, probably the best account of their systems is that given 
by Kuno Fischer in the fifth and seventh volumes of his Geschichte der 
neueren Philosophic: Fichte's Leben, Werke, und Lehre, 3te Aufi., 
1900 ; Hegel, Leben, Lehre, Werke, 2 Bde., 1901. For further references, 
cf. Weber and Windelband, Histories, loc. cit. 

403 



404 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

difference elsewhere maintain with equal emphasis that all 
knowledge is a knowledge of facts, that facts at least must 
be furnished, or granted, otherwise knowledge would be 
impossible. Our present problem deals with this world of 
facts, or the Given. It asks : Does this world of facts 
make up the sum-total of reality, or are there realities 
over and above the world of facts ? Is there a world that 
lies beyond, or transcends the world of experience ? Is 
there a transcendent world? 

This question has been answered in two wa3's. Yes and 

no. Those that reply " yes " are now generally called and 

are best called Realists ; those that reply " no," Idealists. 

I. The belief What is the meaning of this problem? and what is the 

that there is (difference between the two schools of thought ? Men 

such a ° 

world : have felt that the great world about us, the world that we 

ism. experience in our daily life, is not self-explicable. That 
is, they maintain that back of it, or as its foundation, 
there must exist some world to which it owes its being. 
In other words, the world of facts presupposes a transcen- 
dent world that brought it into being and that sustains it. 
Even when some thinkers have gone to the extreme of 
declaring that the world of our experience is mere decep- 
tion, an illusion of the senses, this has not made them give 
up the belief in a real world. On the contrary, this is but 
to hold the more firmly that all is not mere deception, that 
a world of reality exists beyond the deceptive world. But 
even if the world of experience is not deceptive, it is said 
to be only the manifestation of the real world, or the way 
in which the real world appears. It is an illusion if we 
regard it as a perfect picture of the hidden reality ; but it 
is not an illusion if we interpret it merely as the way in 
which the hidden reality behind it manifests itself to our 
minds. Possibly we can get behind these manifestations 
to the reality that underlies, and know that reality as it is 
in and for itself, that is, as it really exists, and not merely 
as it appears to us. 



THE TRANSCENDENT WORLD 405 

The world of facts is called the world of appearance, 
or, in the Greek, the world of phenomena. Philosophy 
has at times held that the hidden world manifested to us 
in the world of experience can be known ; but that to be 
known it must be known by some higher insight, reason, 
or the nous. Therefore it is called the world of noumena, 
or the noumenal world. 

Let us examine the reasons that lead men to believe in T?ie sources 
the existence of this transcendent world. Why cannot ^-^^ ** ^*^-'* 
the world of experience be interpreted as a complete world 
in and by itself ? Why does it need some other world to The ten- 
account for its existence? First we find changes taking seardi*fora 
place in the world about us, and we always look for the principle to 
explanation of these changes in some outside entity that change, 
acts upon the changing objects. Again, if we look upon 
our world as having had a beginning in time, we have to 
ask what has brought it into being? Then a third diffi- 
culty was felt in the ancient world, a difficulty concerning 
change. It seemed impossible that the self-existent, the 
true world of being, could undergo changes as does our 
world, because ultimately if being does undergo change, 
it must become something other than being. It must, in 
short, contradict its very nature and pass from something 
into nothing. So the ancient world looked upon the crea- 
tive or self-existent world (as opposed to the world of 
change) as a world demanded by the reason in order to 
account for change itself. 

In modern times there has been an extension of this The same 
thought, which is, however, only an extension. Science it appears^n 
has sought to analyze the different objects that make up the atomic 
the world into more fundamental objects called atoms. 
Likewise science has sought to reduce their various activi- 
ties to forms of atomic motion. Science has sought for 
some deeper explanation of the great wealth of qualities 
in the world about us and the many changes in these 
qualities. She has sought for an explanation of all these 



406 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

in a great world of atoms with their different laws of mo- 
tion. For some reason she has found this to be the only 
means of explaining the world. The consequence is that 
we have no longer one world but two worlds, for nothing 
could be clearer than that the world of our experience 
is different from the world portrayed in our atomic sj'stem. 
Thus the world we perceive has been looked upon as 
existing simply in our minds or for our minds ; whereas 
the real world that exists without us is the world of 
matter and its motion. 
Such doc- But even this doctrine has been attacked. For what 

tnues ^^ l^g ^j.jjg q£ Qj-^g gg^ q£ qualities, that they exist merely 

argued to -^ _ t. ' j ^ j 

the end in the mind, might also prove true even of atomic or 

material ^^ purely quantitative properties. Perhaps they likewise are 
woridpureiy but the way in which things appear to us, not the things 
as thej^ really are. Thus we find among some thinkers 
the belief that the real world or the transcendent world is 
altogether different from the world revealed to our con- 
sciousness, and that the material world in all its elements 
is but a world of appearances. The true world is perhaps 
unknowable to us ; but knowable or unknowable, it is 
very different from the world of appearance, and the 
world of appearance is made up simply of those mental 
manifestations in us which are caused by the transcendent 
acting upon our minds. 

It is quite evident that this doctrine teaches that the 
mind is itself a part of the transcendent world. The mind 
is acted upon by the transcendent entities ; and, being part 
of the means by which the world of appearance has exist- 
ence, it is not to be disregarded in explaining that world. 
In fact, the world of experience has two sources of its 
existence, and both sources belong of course to the tran- 
scendent world. Part of the phenomenal world is the 
product of the world without acting upon the mind, but 
part is also the product of the mind itself reacting upon 
these influences from without. 



THE TRANSCENDENT "WORLD 407 

We may then roughly say that two reasons have led Summary: 
thinkers to believe in a transcendent world. First, a world ^® *'^^^. 

' sources of 

without change, or better a world of substance, is needed realism, 
to explain the phenomenal world and its changes. Sec- 
ond, an examination of the world revealed to our senses 
shows that it is very different from the true world outside 
of the mind which gives rise to our perceptions. 

The thinkers appealing to the former reason tell us of a Criticism 
world behind the world of phenomena made up of the sub- "^ ^^^ ^^^' 
stance, or the creator and sustainer, ^f that world. These 
thinkers we have already answered ; for we have shown 
that any such transcendent substance can help in no M^ay 
to explain the world. All that we have said in defence of 
singularism and against pluralism, and all that was main- 
tained in the chapters on cosmogony relating to creation, 
might now be brought forward as proof that no explana- 
tion of the phenomenal world needs to presuppose the 
existence of a transcendent world. It is true that a change- 
less world has to be presupposed in our explanation of the 
world of change ; but we have found what this change- 
less world really is. It is merely a world of abstractions. 
It is the world of atoms and their laws of motion. It is 
merely the abstract world of law. It does not exist as an 
entity behind the world, but it is only a system of laws 
formulated by our minds to explain or interpret the con- 
crete or real world. These thinkers, therefore, have sim- 
ply taken the abstract laws that hold of reality and made 
of them a concrete world existing behind reality. Once 
more we come upon the tendency of man to exaggerate 
abstractions into realities. 

The second group of believers in the existence of a tran- 
scendent world are far more subtle and are, therefore, harder 
to answer. The world in which we live and move and have 
our being, according to them, exists only in our minds. It 
is made up only of our perceptions. Therefore, there must 
be a world beyond that gives rise to these perceptions. 



408 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

There are two objections that can be urged against this 
doctrine. The first is the one that we have already men- 
tioned. If all the world of experience be made up only of 
our perceptions, then we cannot give any explanation of it 
except in terms of the laws governing its changes. The 
substance of such a world would not be transcendent any 
the more because that world consisted of perceptions than 
if it consisted of anything else. 

The second objection is the flat denial that we can, 
without contradiction, call the world of facts a Avorld 
made up only of perceptions in our own minds. This 
denial is supported by a subtle and very difficult argu- 
ment. We shall attempt to give it in the following 
chapter, but for the time being we shall assume it so far 
as to say that we believe that this doctrine is thoroughly 
self-contradictory. 

However, we do not have to depend upon these fore- 
going arguments if we want to prove the doctrine of ideal- 
n. Idealism, ism and disprove that of realism. Idealism has its own 
defence, and one that seems to us quite conclusive. 

The idealist's defence may be divided into two chief 
arguments. First, he shows that the transcendent world 
would be absolutely unknowable, and that the absolutely un- 
knowable cannot be distinguished from a pure zero or noth- 
ing whatsoever. Second, he shows that if the transcendent 
world is unknowable, we can predicate nothing of it. 
Further, not only can we not predicate anything of the 
transcendent, but we cannot even apply the term " is " or 
"exists" to it, for this would involve just the very knowl- 
edge that must be denied. The word "exist" has two 
meanings, and neither of these could be ascribed to the 
transcendent. 

The transcendent world luoidd he an unknowable world. 

The only means by which we can know is our mind ; 

Lacking all and that our minds may know, the object to be known must 

****''* be revealed to us. The former statement is self-evident, 



THE TRANSCENDENT WORLD 409 

and the latter is nearly so. Of all the instances that which to 
might be urged as cases in which we know without hav- knowkdge 
ing the object known revealed to us, perhaps none would of the Tran- 
be chosen sooner than that of the blind man knowing could not 
light. Does not the blind man know light, but in no way ^"°^ ^^^^ * 
perceive it? We reply. The question is quite ambigu- 
ous. In the strict sense in which the instance would be 
an exception to idealism he does not know light. The blind 
man is able to perceive some of the properties of light, and 
these alone are what he knows. He realizes, however, that 
through it, his fellow-men are able to do things he is not able 
to do. Further, he can learn the physics of light, but after 
all that means only that he can picture to himself moving 
bodies, and these no doubt in the form of touch-images. 
Again, he can feel the warmth of the sunlight. Thus in 
many ways he can perceive facts intimately related to light 
and can palm off a knowledge of them as a knowledge of 
light, simply because in uncritical moments we mean by a 
knowledge of light only a knowledge of those complemen- 
tary facts. But of light itself the blind man has no knowl- 
edge whatever. 

But sooner or later the whole argument must come 
down to the question: Whether or not we can know with- 
out having in our mind some idea of that which we do 
know. Evidently to make predication of any subject we 
must have a subject, and this is saying, only in another 
way, that our subject must have some positive content or 
representable value to our minds. To use as a subject 
that which our minds could in no way picture, would be to 
have not merely an x for a subject, but not even that. If 
we let X at any time be the subject of a proposition, we do 
have some faint idea, at least, what x stands for. It may 
be a number, or some object more or less like other objects. 
But a wholly transcendent object can have a possible 
representation in our minds only as we are able to con- 
struct such out of the data of sense. As long as the tran- 



410 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



But the 

absolutely 
unknowable 
caunot 
be distin- 
guished 
from a pure 
zero. 



Two mean- 
ings of the 
term 
" exist- 
ence." 



scendent is held to be a world more or less like the 
world of experience, we are able to picture it, at least, to 
some extent. But if the transcendent is in any way like 
the world of experience, we can in so far experience it ; but 
this would be contrary to our hypothesis. Our hypothesis 
forces us to hold that the transcendent is quite other than 
the phenomenal world, and, therefore, we have no data 
whatever whence we can construct a mental representa- 
tion of it. Consequently, we can know nothing of it, and 
we lack entirely not only information, but even a subject 
of which to assert a predicate. The transcendent is abso- 
lutely unknowable. 

Now further, the absolutely unknowable lacks all means 
by which we can distinguish it from nothing, or a pure 
zero. Ordinarily you and I can distinguish any two things 
that look differently, feel differently, and so on ; but in our 
supposed case we have absolutely no mark of distinction. 
The pure zero, or nothing, lacks every mark and so does 
the unknowable. One is nothing whatever, the other is 
something, yet a something that our mind can in no way 
represent, in no way deal with. Hence, when it comes to 
distinguishing it from nothing, we find ourselves wholly at 
a loss to do so. But what shall we say of something that 
cannot be distinguished from nothing? All we can say 
is, that it is sheer nonsense. We are talking about some- 
thing infinitely more absurd than tlie people and doings of 
fairy-land. They at least can in some way be pictured, 
and we have at least some idea about what we are talking. 
But in the case of the transcendent, we talk of that of 
which we know nothing. 

We cannot predicate even existence of the transcendent. 
But though we cannot predicate of a subjectless propo- 
sition any quality or relation, can we not predicate even 
of an unknowable x existence ? We cannot. 

There are two possible meanings of the term "exist." 
This or that exists when amid the facts of the world we 



THE TRANSCENDENT WORLD 411 

can find something to which our description, i.e. the " this " 
or "that," applies. Caesar exists, if we can find facts to 
which we can apply the term " Ceesar," that is, to which we 
can ascribe the intension of the term. We can predicate 
existence of any object whose description fits the facts ; 
or, in other words, we mean there are such things as our 
statements describe. The other meaning of the term is 
but the same looked at from a different point of view. 
We mean by existence the factual, that is, whatever mani- 
fests itself to our minds. A fact, or whatever stands the 
test of a possible experience, exists. 

Now clearly the transcendent is not such. Granting 
that we could predicate of it existence, it lacks all for 
which the term "existence " stands. It does not manifest Neither is 
itself to our senses. But you say, by existence as applied ^o the*^^* 
to the transcendent I do not mean what is merely appli- Tran- 
cable to the world of experience. Then, we reply, you 
either mean what is applicable to the world of experience 
or what is not. If it be applicable, then we must hold the 
transcendent down to the same requirements as we do the 
facts, before we can ascribe any such term to it. If it be 
not applicable to the facts, then, as we have shown, it con- 
notes a state of affairs for which we can have no mental 
representation, either of the whole or of the elements from 
which it has been constructed. In that case we predicate 
we know not what. In short, we talk nonsense. 

Thus the transcendent world is not only unknowable, 
but also unthinkable. It is a pure nothing. To say of it 
even that it exists is to talk nonsense. There is no tran- 
scendent world. Reality and the world of facts are synony- 
mous. There are not two worlds, there is but the one 
world : the Given, or the world apprehended by our minds, 
the world of experience. 



CHAPTER XLV 



THE DETERMINATION OF THE GIVEN ^ 



Idealism has 
denied the 
existence of 
the Tran- 
scendent be- 
cause we 
have no 
evidence of 
that world. 



Idealism, we have seen, declares that the Given is the 
sum-total of reality, that to assert a reality beyond the 
Given is to posit an absolute zero. If we are to assert 
the existence of such an entity, it must be upon the basis 
of some evidence. Now no matter what this evidence 
may be, it must be part of the Given. It must be a fact 
to which we can appeal as evidence. If, then, on the basis 
of such a fact we assert the existence of the transcendent, 
we are doing nothing more than interpreting the fact, or, 
if more, committing the fallacy of non sequitur. If we 
keep within the bounds of evidence, we are simply inter- 
preting the fact in question, it may be, of course, by other 
facts within possible reach, that is, by those which can be- 
come facts for us. We are asserting nothing more than 
the Given, or nothing that cannot be referred to it. If 
we go beyond the Given, however, and mean by the tran- 
scendent something not given, where then is our evidence ? 
We go beyond our premises, and the only escape from 
committing the fallacy of non sequitur is to produce at 
least some new evidence. But what can this new evi- 
dence in turn be but facts? In short, for our assertions 
we must have evidence, and the only ultimate evidence is 
facts ; therefore all our assertions are but interpretations 
of our evidence, and any transcending of our evidence is 
but to wander beyond the reach of all possible knowl- 
edge, because beyond the reach of all possible proof. 

1 The contents of this chapter are taken from my Syllabus of an Intro- 
duction to Philosophy. 

412 



THE DETERMINATION OF THE GIVEN 413 

Further, examination shows that to assert what is beyond 
all possible proof is to talk nonsense ; and this is exactly 
what the idealist accuses the realist of doing. 

The first question that arises after once adopting ideal- This 
ism, is : What is the Given ? Can we give any positive s^^"*?**' ^^^ 
information about it as a whole ? Does our definition of comes, 
it tell us what it is, or only what it is not? Still other- immanent 
wise expressed: Is the Given as a whole determinate or or the 
indeterminate? At the present day this question seems to answers: 
be answered in both ways. Some philosophers hold that 
the Given is determinate ; others protest earnestly against 
this view, holding the Given to be indeterminate. 

If we grant that the Given is determinate, how shall we (a) The 
describe it ? The various answers to this question run : tJrininate *' 
The Given is thought, is sentience, is consciousness. 

Now upon examination we can narrow this determina- The 
tion of the Given considerably. Strictly speaking, we ^^^y'L^resent 
must hold that the ultimate fact is not consciousness in conscious- 
general, but present consciousness, and then again not the 
consciousness of anybody, but " m?/ own present conscious- 
ness." That is, whenever we seek for the facts upon 
which any judgment ultimately rests, we find that these 
facts are always elements in " mi/ own present coyiscious- 
ness.''"' If we accept as proof the consciousness of others, 
we meet with the difficulty that this consciousness is never 
directly known by us, but is obtained through inference. 
Thus when a man born blind tells me about colors, but I 
am unaware that the man is blind, I can be entirely de- 
ceived as to what his real consciousness is ; for the words he 
uses may in no way betray the limitations of his percep- 
tion. Now what is true here in an extreme case, is true 
in all cases. We are never sure, but are always obliged to 
infer, what are the facts as revealed to another mind ; and 
we are always obliged to fall back on facts known directly 
by us to prove these inferences. Proof is then limited 
to the facts of "my own consciousness." 



ness.' 



414 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

But is this all ? Can "I" use "my" whole conscious 
life as the ultimate fact upon which all proof is to be 
based? How about "my" past states of consciousness? 
They once were, but now exist no longer. Nothing that 
we can do will bring back the identical states themselves. 
They are given only through memory, that is, in " my " 
present consciousness. In short, the past is known to me 
always in the present, never in the past. If memory, or 
our present consciousness, tells us about the past, the past 
is for us no longer fact, it is an inference, and as such 
needs proof. We trust our memories, but also often dis- 
trust them. Clearly, then, we sometimes recognize in 
practice the need of even more proof than merely the fact 
of remembering. 

But in what can this further proof consist? It cannot 
consist of past consciousness, for the existence of this as 
we find needs itself proof. It cannot consist in future 
consciousness, for this is not yet within reach and there- 
fore cannot be used. It must be present consciousness. 
Present consciousness gives us facts, and on the basis of 
these all assertions about the past and future, as well as 
the present, must rest. Therefore all appeal to ultimate 
proof must be to facts given in present consciousness, and 
not only to present consciousness, hut to " my " present con- 
sciousness. The Griven, therefore., if it he determinate^ must 
he found within the four ivalls of " my present conscious- 
ness.'''' ^ 

Opposed to the view that we are able to determine what 
the Given is, stands the doctrine that the Given is indeter- 

1 This type of idealism is easily reached by followers of Locke, Berkeley, 
and Hume. It has been called by some Conscientialism. In Germany, 
as represented by Schuppe and others, it is called by them Immanent 
Philosophy. The word " Immanent" is used in opposition to transcend- 
ent, or realistic. The Neo-Hegelian and Neo-Kantian idealism tends 
strongly to regard the Given as determinate, experience or sentience being 
the name by which it is called. Cf. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, 
Chapters XIII and XIV. 



THE DETERMINATION OF THE GIVEN 415 

minate.i The only way in which we can determine the (&) Tiie 
Given as a whole is to find some relations or uniformities ^'"^'^ ^^ 
universally present in the Given, and determine the Given nate. 
as a whole by positing this uniformity, or law, of it. 

But let us consider the arguments more at length. We 
have found that the Given means the sum-total of the 
facts, or, as sometimes expressed, everything within the 
bounds of a possible experience. Our question will then 
run : Can we tell what this sum-total of the facts is ? 

Now the idealist has already told us that there is no Fourpos- 

reality beyond the Given, that the Given and Reality are ^'^^^ '?^?:°- 
TT ,1 • . , "^ "igs of the 

synonymous. Hence this same question asks : Can we tell question, 

what the sum-total of reality is ? Here, of course, it would '^^^^If '^ 

be fatal to the argument to forget that the expression, that?" 

" What is this thing ? " may have more than one meaning. 

Let us then first see what we mean or may mean by the 

question. 

When we ask what a thing is, we generally mean what 
are its conferentice and differentiae. We wish to learn the 
proximum genus and the characteristics that differentiate 
the object in question from other species of the same genus. 
Thus, when we inquire what is a mammalian, we might 
get the answer, a mammalian is a vertebrate {proximum 
genus) that gives suck to its young {differentia). This is 
the general meaning of the question, "What is this 
thing?" If we desire a more elaborate description than 
a definition gives, this description need not do more than 
follow the same lines as the definition. 

But our question might not mean this. We might feel 
that we had answered the inquiry by telling of some law 
or relation present throughout the class or obtaining uni- 
versally between the class or object and other classes or 
objects. Thus I might interpret thunder by telling how it 
always follows lightning. I might describe water by giving 

1 Cf. Miinsterberg, Psychology and Life, pp. 12-14, and Die Giltigkeit 
unserer Erkenntniss, u. s. w., Part I. 



41G INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

its boiling-point. I might tell what is the organic world 
by referring to its dependence upon the inorganic world 
for its sustenance. 

A third possible interpretation of the question, What 
is this thing ? asks us to give some universal attribute of 
the thing, an attribute that does not include all its attri- 
butes, but one that is at least not possessed by any other 
object. Thus the power of voluntary action may be pos- 
sessed by all animals of certain classes. A certain custom 
may be universally and peculiarly practised by but one 
race or tribe of men. The building of a certain descrip- 
tion of nest may be done by but one species of birds. 
Certain chemical combinations may be good conductors of 
electricity. Strictly speaking, in this third possible inter- 
pretation, we are giving a sort of differentia ; but we need 
not give the genus proximum and we need give only that 
which in part differentiates the object or class from all 
others. 

A fourth possible meaning would imply that we ask 
merely for some information concerning the object and not 
necessarily for any that differentiates the object from all 
others. Thus, if I ask. Who was Andrew Jackson? the 
question may be answered by saying that he was a presi- 
dent of the United States. What is a bacillus ? A 
species of bacteria. 

We are now prepared to ask in which of these possible 
meanings is the question. What is the Given? intended 

Adopting to be taken. 

the first -pj^Q idealist that holds the Given to be indeterminate 

meaning, we 

can find no takes the question in the first sense, that is, he sees in the 
genusno™ problem the question : What is the proximum genus and 
differentiae the differentia of the Given? Further, he accuses the 

for tli6 

Given. It Other idealists of taking the question in the same meaning. 

is the If the other idealists do hold this view, the indeterminist 

concept. certainly has the better of the argument. If the Given 

equal the sum-total of reality, how possibly are we to get 



THE DETERMINATION OF THE GIVEN 417 

a still higher genus ? The only way we could do so would 
be to adopt the categories of the Stoics, i.e. divide to ri 
(anything whatever) into the to fjurj 6v and the to 6v (not 
Being and Being). In this way we could speak of the Given 
as a species of the " anything " and differentiate it from 
the " non-being " or the " non-existent." In either case 
the Given and Being are synonymous, and the only thing 
from which we can differentiate Being is the non-existent. 

In calling the Given consciousness, the other idealists 
dare not mean by such a term more than Being. If they 
mean more, they are contradicting their own premises, 
which make the Given the summum genus of existence, 
and which, therefore, deny it to be a species of a higher 
genus. Secondly, in applying the word " consciousness " 
to the Given they take all the ordinary meaning from the 
word " consciousness " and make it synonymous with " Be- 
ing in general." Thus any attempt to determine the Given, 
meaning by "determining," to give the proximum genus 
and differentiae, is meaningless, for either it leads to a con- 
tradiction or it takes away all meaning except " Being in 
general " from the term employed. 

Then, again, if the Given be the summum genus, its 
extension is infinite, that is, all reality comes under it as a 
concept. But we find that as the extension of a concept 
increases, its intension decreases. Now the extension of 
the summum genus is infinite, its intension is therefore 
zero. But when we assert of anything a concept without 
intension, we are asserting nothing. In short, our asser- 
tion is a truism. The determinate idealist is loudly pro- 
claiming what at first seems much information, but when 
examined proves to be mere truism. When he calls the 
Given consciousness, or experience, he is taking from the 
term all intension, and therefore all positive meaning, and 
transforming the word into a highest concept. This he 
seems to do quite unconsciously, because he keeps talking 
as though he were giving some information about the 
2e 



418 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Still in one 
sense both 
must agree. 
All deter- 
mination is 
a determina- 
tion of the 
Given ; or, 
the Given is 
the subject 
of all predi- 
cation. 



Given. As a matter of fact, however, his terminology is 
worse than meaningless. Worse, because it has the appear- 
ance of having intension, whereas every particle of such 
intension has been surreptitiously removed. Therefore, if 
we mean this by the determination of the Given, our posi- 
tion is untenable. It is worse ; it is absurd. 

However, if the other party mean by the determination 
of the Given one of the remaining interpretations of the 
question: What is the Given ? then this difficulty is avoided. 
The determination of the Given as a whole may in that 
case mean : Give some universal law, or uniformity, obtain- 
ing throughout all existence. 

If we take the question in the third sense, we should 
then seek for some universal attribute of reality. One 
such universal attribute is time. That is, the determi- 
nation of the Given might mean that we regard all reality 
as having time duration, and that non-duration would 
mean non-reality. 

Both parties would agree that all determination is a 
determination of the Given, and only of the Given. As 
we sliall now proceed to show, the Given is the Subject of 
all Predication. 1 

This statement, of course, does not mean that our sen- 
tences will grammatically have the Given as their subject. 
Such a proposition is, of course, absurd. It means, how- 

1 This statement seems at first to have to undergo some modification if 
we adopt the Stoic classification as above given. In that case, " non- 
Being " may be the subject of predication, but, of course, only of negation ; 
but an absolute negation is no predication at all. A negation, as such, 
contains a positive element, is therefore an interpretation of Being. 
Aristotle defined substance as that which neither is predicated of a subject 
nor is in a subject. His definition can be applied correctly to the Given. 
The development of the Aristotelian doctrine of substance to its logical 
end in Spinoza but shows this more clearly. Spinoza's doctrine of sub- 
stance and its unity tells us when analyzed little more than that substance 
is the subject of all predication, or otherwise expressed, reality as a whole 
is the subject of all predication. If this be true, and if the Given equal the 
sum-total of Beality, then the Given is this Universal Subject. 



THE DETEKMINATION OF THE GIVEN 419 

ever, that every judgment or statement is either true or 
false. A judgment is true when it agrees with reality, 
when it interprets reality correctly. It is false when it 
fails to do so. Therefore if predication be true or false, it 
must be so because of its claim to be an interpretation of 
reality. The Given is the reality which is being inter- 
preted, and it is all that we can interpret. The nonentity 
of the realistic transcendent world was shown in our inabil- 
ity to interpret it or to say anything about it. But we 
have to limit our proposition on its other side. All inter- 
pretation is of the Given as a whole. To interpret a part 
is but an interpretation of the whole. The interpretation 
of the part out of all relation to the whole would be to 
contradict ourselves. If we forget that it is a part, we 
misrepresent it. If we interpret it as a part, we are inter- 
preting it as a part of the whole. In a word, we are in- 
terpreting the whole in part. The idealist then finds in 
the Given the subject of predication, and he declares that 
the subject is involved as a whole in all predication. We 
can then assert as a principle, that if there be knowledge 
or predication, the Given or reality is known. ^ 

1 The popular doctrine of recent decades, called Agnosticism, is an 
absurdity if it mean that knowledge fails to interpret ultimate ( !) reality, 
or again, that any sensible question can be asked of reality and not admit 
of a conceivable answer. But agnosticism, as a rule, means one of two 
doctrines. It may mean that all knowledge is relative, and that therefore 
any knowledge of reality except of its relations is impossible. Of course 
this is true. What other knowledge could we possibly want ? To know 
is to relate. But the objects that we relate are real. Direct apprehension 
gives us facts, and facts are reality. Hence all that we could desire to do 
is to know or relate the facts to one another. In this case reality is not 
some hidden mysterious absolute. If the agnostic means that we can 
never complete the work of knowledge, that her task is infinite, then, 
of course, he is right. But why should he then call his doctrine agnos- 
ticism ? We do know reality in part. 

Secondly, agnosticism may mean to tell us that there is a transcendent 
world, and that such a woiid must be unknowable. If the idealist is in the 
right, he has delivered us from this form of agnosticism by showing us 
that the transcendent world is a nonentity. 



CHAPTER XLVI 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 



The princi- 
ples of 
reality are 
to be found 
by the 
logical 
analysis of 
knowledge 
to find its 
impli- 
cations. 



We have learned that the world which the mind inter- 
prets must be given it as a datum, and that the mind must 
be granted those ultimate presuppositions about this given 
world which make up its premises, for without them its 
work of interpretation would be impossible. We have 
thus far considered each of these truths, but we have not 
asked ourselves what these ultimate presuppositions are. 

We called them the principles of reality or the a priori 
premises of every interpretation of reality. What are they, 
and how can they be discovered ? 

The method of discovery is simple enough to state. No 
matter what we say or affirm, we always involve oui-selves 
in an indefinite number of implications. Thus, should we 
in walking through a field find a big bone lying on the 
turf, and should we remark that it is the thigh-bone of a 
cow, would not many truths quite foreign to our thoughts 
be at once implied in our proposition ? If it is the thigh- 
bone of a cow, there once existed the actual living cow, 
and this bone was once part of that living organism. 
Once it was supplied with muscles and arteries that fed it 
and its muscles. Once it was united to other bones. 
Once this bone was much smaller when the cow was but 
the calf ; and before that, it went through a given embryo- 
logical development. So on and on we might ravel out of 
the one statement all the implicated truths, that is, all that 
the author of the statement would hold true of a cow's 
thigh-bone. But over and above these general truths that 
are given us by science and by everyday knowledge, and 

420 



THE PRINCIPLES OP REALITY 421 

that are liable to be in one way or another implied in almost 
everything that we say, there are other truths of even 
wider, of even universal implication. Clearly the state- 
ment, " This is the thigh-bone of a cow," involves very 
different implications from those involved by the state- 
ment, " There yonder is a thistle," or " I believe it will 
rain this afternoon." But these or any other propositions 
involve alike the most general of all implications, such, 
for instance, as we are taught in the rules of logic. You 
will remember how in the square of opposition we were 
taught that if any one grants A (the universal affirma- 
tive), he at once implies something about the other three 
types of proposition, E, I, and O (the universal negative 
and the particular affirmative and negative). Thus if A 
is true, E is false and also O, whereas I must be true. If 
A is false, O must be true, and so on. 

Here, then, we seem to have two quite different sets of Such analy- 
implications. There were first what might be called the veaUhV^ 
material implications of our statement. That is, we ac- material as 
cepted to begin with certain truths about all thigh-bones merely for- 

of cows ; and whenever we called any object a thigh-bone, ^^^ impii- 

,. T . ,1 1 1 cations, 

we at once implied in our statement the many other truths 

making up our general information. Then, secondly, there 
were the formal implications. These in no way had to do, 
as did the others, with our special proposition or the spe- 
cial information we actually had about thigh-bones. They 
were those general truths about propositions which hold of 
them irrespective of their contents. In fact, we have 
already mentioned them and called them the principles of 
knowledge. They are the principles of identity, contra- 
diction, and excluded middle. 

These principles have to be admitted by all, or reasoning 
would be impossible. In fact, to know means simply to 
interpret in accordance with these principles. But as we 
have learned in our controversy with empiricism, besides 
the meTe formal principles of logic there are other princi- 



422 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

pies, that is, there are material implications of knowledge. 
In short, in all our statements about the world there are 
besides the particular material implications, which of course 
differ from one proposition to the other as their subject- 
matter changes, universal material implications. They are 
universal, because no matter what our proposition may be, 
it will always involve these as its ultimate implications 
along with the purely formal or logical principles. These 
material principles are not merely rules knowledge has to 
obc}^ in order to be logical, but they make up certain 
truths about the world that our knowledge is interpreting. 
Just as when I call an object a thigh-bone of a cow, I im- 
ply that a cow once existed to whom this bone belonged ; so 
when we make any judgment about any object, we imply 
that certain ultimate truths must hold of that object : 
otherwise we should not be able to interpret it at all. 
Now these ultimate truths are truths about reality, or the 
world in general ; or, which is the same thing, they hold of 
any conceivable object of our knowledge, which in turn 
means of any fact. They are universally true. They are 
a priori truths, whereas most other truths not thus ulti- 
mately implied are called a posteriori. 

With this general information about the principles of 
reality in mind, we can clearl}^ see that the only means by 
which to discover just what the}'- are, or what is their 
content, is for us to analyze our knowledge, and by this 
process of reflection to discover just what implications are 
involved therein. When we have found propositions that 
must be implied, that must be granted us as premises or 
otherwise a knowledge of reality would be impossible ; 
then we shall know that we have discovered the objects 
of our search. Of course no end of errors may be made by 
any one searching for these principles. Often we find 
propositions that seem to be implied, but real!}'- are not, or 
again we may find genuine implications that seem to be 
ultimate, but are not. 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 423 

In our argument against empiricism we have clearly (a) The 

seen that any interpretation of the world presupposes the causaUon" 

law of causation 1 as one of its premises. The whole in- it is a 

terest that we have in gaining knowledge is that what we impUcatioa 

know of an obiect will always continue to hold true of it. °^^^^ 

Tr 1 1 • 1 11 knowledge. 

II heat melts ice to-day, and to-morrow under the very 

same conditions fails to do so, then what good would it 
be to us to know that heat melts ice ? Clearly one of the 
very things we claim of our knowledge is that it holds 
good from minute to minute, from day to day, and even 
from eternity to eternity. Once true always true, is the 
motto of knowledge. Surely if it were not so, every sci- 
entific text-book and treatise would have to be rewritten 
not merely day by day, but minute by minute. 

Moreover, there would be a further difficulty equally 
able to annihilate the possibility of knowledge. How 
should we dare say even that " heat now melts ice " ? 
Besides the heat there are now an indefinite number of 
other events existing in nature along with the melting ice. 
But you say: We have been able gradually to eliminate 
these other happenings, and we find that their absence in 
no way affects the ice ; hence we have concluded that the 
heat and the melting are causally connected. Very well, 
but have you done all this in one moment of time, or did 
you not have to make a number of observations or experi- 
ments ? Clearly, one instance could not prove it ; just 
because the one instance presents all sorts of other coex- 
isting events and gives you no more than the problem 
itself. You have to search for other instances that differ 
in some important way from the first. Only then can you 
tell whether or not the heat played the part suggested. 
Look, then, at your petitio principii! Unless your law of 
causation holds from moment to moment, what possible 
bearing can instance number two have on instance number 
one ? Even though the events coexisting with the second 

1 It may also be called the Principle of Sufficient Reason. 



424 



INTRODUCTION TO THILOSOPHY 



(b) The 
Principle of 
Repetition. 
This is a 
necessary 
complement 
of the prin- 
ciple of 
causation. 



melting be different from those coexisting with the first 
except in the one respect, tlie presence of heat, what has 
that in any way to do with the question ? Perhaps any 
one of these other accompanying events has now become 
the cause ; and though heat is present, it may be quite 
superfluous. Perhaps the causal law for which you search 
changes Avith every instance, and perhaps you are then but 
trying to find a fairy that at each instant changes her form 
and the form of all her surroundings. 

Therefore, if you do not grant knowledge the law of causa- 
tion or the principle that, under the same conditions, the 
same event always happens ; not only would all knowledge 
having any validity for events yet to come be impossible, 
but even a knowledge of the present instant would be 
quite out of the question. Knowing the world is an ab- 
surdity, unless the world be governed by the law of causa- 
tion. That doubted, knowledge is impossible, and we 
become absolute skeptics. 

But it is not enough that we grant knowledge the law 
of causation as one of her premises. This law itself would 
be a quite useless piece of information about the world 
unless the world were of such a character that the law 
could be actually applied. We must suppose also that 
the same conditions actually repeat themselves now and 
then, otherwise, what possible good would it be to us to 
know the causal law ? It might be forever true that given 
«5, b will follow ; but if a never repeats itself, we are no better 
off than we should be were the law not true. We are in 
a world that in no way presents itself to us as the v/orld of 
order or law. Each instant we should have an entirely 
new world; and as far as our knowledge is concerned it 
would be not a cosmos, but a chaos. Consequently, when 
we accept the law of causation as a principle of reality, we 
are forced not only to maintain its abstract truth, but also 
its concrete fitness as a premise of knowledge. It must 
be of service to knowledge, otherwise it were no premise ; 



THE PRINCIPLES OF KEALITY 425 

and if no premise, then its a priori character is at once set 
aside. Hence, in admitting the truth of the law of causa- 
tion, we assert at the same time its fitness as a premise 
for knowledge ; and this means, that we presuppose the 
world to be such that the laws of causation are succes- 
sively in actual operation. This second principle we have 
called the Principle of Repetition. ^ It maintains that the 
world is a uniform world, and that the same sort of events 
not only are likely to repeat themselves, but actually do do 
so. In spite of all the changes from moment to moment, 
there is not an absolutely new order of things ; but the 
old order maintains itself. It is a world of repetition 
amid change. As we look out upon the world, in spite of 
the many changes that we do pick out, it is, after all, 
much the same world from day to day and from century to 
centur}^ And even though we take great ages such as 
the lifetime of a solar system, still even such tremendous 
periods are not a complete change from what went before. 
Matter and its laws are still such that we can find taking 
place in the ordered solar system the same processes that 
took place in the chaotic cosmic dust. Matter, governed 
by the laws of gravitation, is still at hand. There are still 
repetitions of the same general mechanical and physical 
phenomena that you and I see working to-day. Were all 
this not so, or were not some other uniformities in their 
place, there would be no theory of the origin of a solar 
system. Its origin would be for knowledge undiscoverable. 
We should have before us an event not admitting of a 
conceivable interpretation ; because its laws could not be 
determined. This statement, of course, does not mean 
that you and I find repetitions of everything that ever 
happens in all its details. Still the elements of such an 
event must repeat themselves ; otherwise we could never 
get beyond a mere wild guess, for verification could not be 
had. You and I always search for such uniform occur- 

1 Some might call it the Principle of the Uniformity of Nature. 



426 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



rences ; and. the very fact that we make it an end of our 
search, in other words, regard objects as admitting of 
interpretation, involves us logically in the presupposition 
that the uniformity is there, 
(c) The But in all this there is involved the presupposition that 

World is a ^}^q world, is one of change. Were there no such charac- 

World of ° 

Permanence teristic to the world. as change, clearly the laws of causa- 
and Change. ^-^^^ would be meaningless. Thus in our very attempt to 
know the world we assert its changing character. The 
world is a world of change. But, as we saw in criticizing 
the doctrine of Heraclitus, a world that is only change 
would be quite unknowable. Change can be known only 
by comparing it with the permanent. We might even 
assert the paradox, a universally changing world would 
be changeless. Each moment would be known in itself, 
but that it was different from the . preceding moment 
could not be known unless the preceding moment were 
in some way present as a standard for comparison. When 
we float down a quiet stream in an open boat, did we not 
have the permanent landmarks on the shore to use as a 
measuring rod, how should we know that we had moved? 
Thus the changing and the permanent are correlatives ; 
and, consequently, the moment we presuppose the world 
to be one of change, we are forced to presuppose also that 
in all its changes there is an unchanging element. 

In part we have already seen what this permanent ele- 
ment must be. There must be repetition and uniformity 
in nature's changes. But the principle of permanence 
involves further elements. There must be a continuation 
of some elements from moment to moment as the others 
change, not merely a repetition. The world must give us 
the picture of change amid the permanent. But not only 
does the principle of permanence presuppose an identity 
from moment to moment in some of the elements of the 
changing world, but it also includes a second element of 
permanence. This element is the permanence of the ulti- 



THE PRINCIPLES OF EEALITY 427 

mate standards of all compaiison. Here we have the justi- 
fication of such principles as those of the conservation of 
mass and motion. 

Yet a further presupposition is involved along with those (d) The 
of uniformity and change, and that is : The world is not existin^^irT^ 
one eternal present, but is a world of the past, present, and the Past, 
future. Of the past, we say, it is gone ; and of the future, Future.' 
it is not as yet. Still both are, for us, equally a part of 
the real world, and are just as fundamental or absolute as 
is the present. Of course, the very word "present" is a 
correlative of past and future ; but apart from this impli- 
cation of our terms, knowledge itself must presuppose the 
two latter. Causation would be meaningless, could in fact 
not exist, unless we thus had the time distinctions. With- 
out duration there would be no change or permanence. 
Thus they all presuppose that the real world is more than 
what is revealed to our minds in the moment. The world 
as given or presented to our minds involves, the moment 
we interpret it, both the world of the past and of the 
future. The moment it is a world in time, that moment 
it is more than the present ; for speaking absolutely the 
present can have no duration. 

Still another final element is involved along with the (e) The 
law of causation. The world must be not only a uni- of Likeness 

form world, a world of change and permanence, a world and 

. Difference, 

existing in the past, present, and future, but it must also 

be a world of likeness and difference. If the world were 
one endless identity not merely from moment to moment, 
but within each moment, or again, if it were nothing 
but difference, comparison would be impossible. That 
knowledge involves necessarily in it a comparison, forces 
us to find in the very possibility of knowing the world the 
presupposition of an object that can be compared. The 
world to be knowable must be a world of likeness and of 
difference. Were the world all alike, the work of knowl- 
edge would be done before it even commenced. Were the 



428 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

woiid different throughout, there would be no comparing 
of one element with another. Even the very difference 
would be unknowable. 

Thus we find involved in the very nature of knowledge, 
in its being the assertion of laws discovered by compar- 
ing one thing with another, a series of presuppositions. 
They are those of causation and uniformity, of change 
and permanence, of duration and of likeness and differ- 
ence. The world, then, as presupposed by knowledge, 
is one in which amid differences there is likeness, and amid 
change the permanent. It is a world extending on through 
time, past and future. It is a world in which there are 
recurrences of what has been and in which all occurrences 
take place in accordance with the laws of causation. 



CHAPTER XLVII 

THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY (Ooncluded) 

We have now studied some of the principles of reality, 
presupposed by knowledge in interpreting the world. But 
there still remain even profounder ones for us to discover. 

The first of these is the division of the world into sub- (/) The 
ject and object. The instant we know, we divide the tiae'worid 
world in two : into the thing known and the knower, that into Subject 
is, into subject and object. The division is truly funda- 
mental and is truly a presupposition, because no matter 
what instance of knowing we may pick out, this division 
of the world in two will always be involved. It cannot 
therefore be the result of knowledge or some conclusion 
at which we arrive by inference. Did we attempt to infer 
its truth, the very knowledge by which we made the 
attempt would already have involved the distinction. 

Thus, in the very act of knowledge, the world, or the 
Given, is divided into subject and object. Hence, one 
name by which we might call the Given (combining the 
two terms, object and subject) is Subject-Object. The 
importance of the term is to emphasize a fundamental 
truth against which philosophers have been somewhat 
prone to sin. The world cannot be regarded as identical 
with the mind that does the knowing. This doctrine, 
called Solipsism, forgets that object and subject are correl- 
atives, and that the world which we divide in the very act 
of knowing into subject and object is neither one of these 
alone, but is both. On the other hand, we might ignore the 
subject and regard the whole world as object. This is a 
fault often charged against naturalism. But the subject 

429 



430 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

cannot be explained out of the object, nor the object 
out of the subject. They are both equally presupposed. 
They are both ultimate. 

The objection has been raised against knowledge, that it 
cannot know a world that lies outside of the mind that 
does the knowing, for how can the mind get beyond its 
own immediate states ? The answer is clear. The ulti- 
mate facts are both subject and object ; ^ and the division 
into subject and object is an act implicitly involved in all 
knowledge. In making this division, knowledge does not 
transcend the ultimate facts which she is interpreting. She 
is simply interpreting those very facts, when she speaks 
of subject and object. The objective world is mixed up 
by these skeptics with the transcendent world. Of course, 
were the objective world something that transcends the 

1 The terms " subjective " and " objective " have several meanings, and 
this fact leads to much confusion. Often subjective means what is in the 
mind, and objective what is without the mind. In epistemology, however, 
this is not their meaning. The object includes the mind as well as the 
material world, for both may be objects of knowledge. The objective 
world means, therefore, simply the known world or the world that we try 
to know. Those thinkers, however, who tend to identify the Given, or 
the facts directly revealed to the subject, with our mental states, can 
easily be misled into asking whether or not an objective world (a world 
lying beyond those mental states) can be known ? This question simply 
shows how absurd it is to speak of the ultimate facts as mental facts. 
Were they such, we could know only mental states ; and an objective 
(in the sense of being without the mind) world would be transcendent 
and unknowable. For a further discussion of this diflScult question I 
must refer the reader again to my monograph. Die Giltigkeit unserer 
Erkenntniss der objektiven Welt. 

One further meaning of the terms " objective " and " subjective " should 
be noticed. Subjective is applied to our illusions and also to views that 
claim to be no more than a description of our own feelings or mental 
attitude toward objects. Whereas objective is applied to all things that 
admit of being constantly perceived not only by ourselves, but by others, 
and also to whatever mental attitude or feelings we require others to 
adopt or claim that they should adopt. Otherwise expressed, sub- 
jective means personal, particular, whereas objective means universal, 
valid for all men. Cf. Chapter LIV. 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 431 

Given ; then indeed, as we have already seen, it would be 
unknowable. But the division of the Given into subject 
and object, in every act of knowledge, involves us in no 
such going beyond the bounds of our premises. 

There are two other ultimate presuppositions, or inter- {g) The 
pretations of reality, involved implicitly in every act of i^t^^t^g 
knowledge. They are the divisions of the world into the Absolute 
Absolute and the Relative, and the Infinite and the Finite. Relative. 

The term " absolute " is used in a number of senses. We 
mean by it sometimes the creator, or substance of the 
world. At other times we mean simply the sum-total of 
reality, the world. But more strictly used it is a correla- 
tive of the term, the relative. Likewise the terms "infi- 
nite " and " finite " are used in more than one sense. 

According to relativism or agnosticism, the Absolute 
and the Infinite are unknowable.^ In a sense this is true 
enough ; but the main inference of this theory is quite 
fallacious and misunderstands the very premises on which 
it is based. 

First of all, the absolute and the infinite as described 
by the relativists are bugbears and nothing else. All 
that we can mean by the absolute and the infinite is 
the Given, or the data of knowledge. We can look at the 
facts from two points of view : from the one we may call 
them the absolute, from another the infinite ; but ulti- 
mately we mean by both only the Given. If we regard 
any object simply as existing, but in no way interpreted, 
we behold the absolute. That is, the absolute is the name 
for " only its reality.'"'' The absolute is the real or existing 
object considered apart from all knowledge of it. Another 
way of putting this would be : If any object were pre- 
sented to our minds, and we knew absolutely nothing about 
it, we should apprehend the absolute. In other words, the 
relativist is simply complaining that we cannot know the 
absolute except to know something about it. Let us thank 

1 Cf. Spencer, First Principles, Part I., Chapter IV. 



432 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

our stars that we cannot. Do our best, we cannot be so 
ignorant of the facts presented to our minds as to stare 
at them utterly unable in any way to know them. The 
relativist tells us to know is to know about. True, it is. 
Therefore you cannot know without knowing about. True 
again. But to know the absolute would be to know some- 
thing about it. True likewise. Therefore to know some- 
thing about it would make it at once the relative. Yes, 
verily. But what a mighty battle of mere words ! We 
do know the absolute. The term "the relative " means 
simply " knowing the absolute " ; and of course we cannot 
know the absolute without knowing the relative. They 
are not two things, but two names for the same thing. 
The absolute is the reality in no way known, the relative 
is the same reality known. 
(h) The Likewise the term " infinite " is a bugbear. " We cannot 

Infinite and ^ ^j^ infinite." The term "infinite" has two quite 

the Fmite. ^ 

distinct meanings. It may mean the Given, or it may 
refer to another element present in all knowledge. 

Whenever we know, or interpret, we always divide the 
world up into parts or limit the object of our knowledge. 
We never attempt at one jump, as it were, to interpret all 
tliere is to interpret. If you and I look out upon some 
landscape, what we see before us is not an undivided whole, 
but here a hill, there a tree, here rocks, there a meadow 
and a road, and so on. We never behold the world as a 
t- tality not made up of parts, but always as a series of 
ii; dividual objects. Now, reader, could you and I stand 
and stare at this landscape till we got into some sort of 
half-trance, in which the different objects were no longer 
different objects, but in which the sum-total of the pre- 
sented facts had fused together into one quite chaotic 
whole, you and I should see the Infinite. In short, the 
infinite from this point of view means simply the Given in 
no way divided up into parts. It is the unlimited, the 
undivided. It is like the absolute ; it is simply one way 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 433 

of looking at the Given. Clearly in this sense we do 
know the infinite or that which is infinite. 

The other meaning of the term "infinite," and it is in 
this sense that we say our knowledge is finite, may be 
stated as follows : Whenever we know, we relate ; but 
take any object you will, we never know it so well that 
we feel we know all about it, all that there is for us to 
know. Thus any object is always a source of new prob- 
lems. Or we might put it thus : The more we know, the 
less we feel we know. To know means always to have 
new questions arise, hence we never complete the work 
of knowing and never can. Hence no matter where we 
approach reality, no matter how simple and commonplace 
the object may be that we are knowing, the work of know- 
ing it is never a finished task. The more we know about 
it, the more new questions arise, and the more we feel forced 
to know. In short, we say only an infinite mind could 
know about any one object all there is to be known. 
What, then, does the word "infinite" mean as applied to the 
world ? It means, first, that to know the world perfectly is 
an endless task, and, secondly, that any object which we 
nwy know is always only a part of the world and is known 
solely by relating it to the other parts, and these parts are 
countless. Thus there is always a world beyond the world 
that we know. This fact makes us call the world infinite, 
and makes us say we cannot know the infinite. Clearly, it 
would be better to say our knowledge is finite, but to be 
perfect knowledge it would have to be infinite. 

But botli sets of terms, " the absolute and the relative," 
" the infinite and the finite," denote presuppositions of our 
knowledge. To interpret means to interpret reality ; but 
inasmuch as to interpret is only to assert relations, there 
must be involved, besides the mere interpretation as such, 
the reality of which the relations hold true. In short, we 
can always find involved in knowledge the two elements, 
the reality and the interpretation that holds of the reality. 
2f 



434 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The 

attempt to 
gain from 
these presup- 
positions a 
view of the 
World in the 
totality of 
its being. 



Likewise the terms "infinite" and "finite." Inasmuch as 
all interpretation is a limitation of the reality known, there 
is presupposed that which is unlimited, or that of which 
the limitation holds. As the reader should see, this is 
only saying that in every interpretation there is involved 
the knowledge and the thing known, or as we have called 
it, the Given. Thus the infinite and absolute are but two 
ways of looking at the facts themselves, — the facts apart 
from their interpretation, or from any knowledge of them.^ 

These questions answered, we pass to what is certainly 
the profoundest question that the mind of man can put to 
itself. Are we able to form any picture of reality in the 
sum-total of its being ? From what has been said, we do 
surely know reality or else we know nothing at all ; but it 
was equally clear that we know reality only in part. As 
finite minds we never complete the task of knowing the 
world. Not only, as we have seen over and over again, 
are we limited within every field of human research, but 
we are limited from the very nature of our knowledge 
which sets over against the finite the infinite, and causes 
our knowledge to be ever a finite one. 

If we are limited then to knowing reality only in part, 
how can we in any way gain a picture of reality in its 
infinitude? The only answer that can be made to this 
question we have already given. In an a priori way alone 
is such a knowledge possible ; and the principles of reality 
as such form the sum-total of this knowledge. The picture 
they give of reality in its infinitude is meagre indeed ; but 
then a moment's thought would lead us to expect nothing 
else. They do not give the concrete story of reality that 
you and I seek in the knowledge of daily life. The}^ give 



1 All this is, I know, very dogmatically stated ; but to discuss the 
question properly requires space. In fact the problem belongs to a 
treatise and not to an elementary book. However, the reader is sure to 
come upon this question in the course of general reading, and hence it 
demanded at least a brief answer here. 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 435 

only those ultimate presuppositions or conditions of knowl- 
edge that alone make it possible. They do not furnish us 
the results of knowledge, but merely the bare formal out- 
line, as it were, that knowledge is afterward to fill in. 
Yet bare and abstract as is such a principle, it is surely 
information, and is surely information about the universe 
in its totality. Certainly, then, man's reason is to be 
justified in trying to drag out of these few a 'priori 
pieces of knowledge every particle of information that 
can possibly be obtained from them. Still, logically, 
it is most dangerous work. We are liable to use words 
that have a narrow and definite meaning and apply them * 
to the universe without noticing that in so doing we 
quite misuse or rather set aside their old signification. 
Let us turn our attention to the problem, but let us be 
very cautious. 

As we have seen, reality is somehow not merely the Reality is 
object of knowledge, it is also the subject. This must be ^g^j. ^^^ ' 
to many a hard saying' indeed ; but as we saw, you and I Object, and 

T . T T . / 1 n 1 ■ 1 ill this 

are dividing reality in two when we speak oi subject and sense may 
object. It would be false to treat it only as object, or only ^^ called 

•' . , , , . . the Univer- 

as subject. It is both, it is the subject-object. But what sal Mind, 
does this exceedingly abstract statement mean ? It means 
this, that the ultimate picture which our minds form of 
reality dare not be confined merely to the facts that form 
the object of knowledge, but must include also the inter- 
pretation of those facts. When you and I by reflection 
watch knowledge at her work of telling us what reality is, 
we never get as a picture merely the object to be inter- 
preted, but also the interpretation. In fact, our very at- 
tempt to interpret reality at all shows us that to stop short 
with the mere fact and go no farther would be to lose 
something of reality itself. Why otherwise should we 
strive to know the world, if to know the world were not 
itself a means of revealing the world to our minds ? The 
complete picture of reality cannot be had by doing away with 



436 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

knowledge, but only by completing the work of knowledge. 
True, all this is dangerously abstract reasoning, but mark 
well the clear implication involved in attempting to know 
at all. Somehow the more we know, if to know be what 
it claims to be (and we have to accept that claim), the more 
we know the more truly are you and I in possession of the 
real. Were this not so, the babe in the craJle would be 
just as perfectly aware of the world as we are. Somehow 
the facts have involved in them the story that you and I 
search to discover, that story we call the knowledge of the 
world. Thus we may say that knowledge is but a means 
of bringing out more clearly all that is contained in the 
facts of the world, or reality itself. Hence it is we have 
to say, that we cannot divorce the world from the knowl- 
edge of the world. Hence it is, too, that the ultimate pic- 
ture of reality contains in it that ideal of knowledge, the 
perfect interpretation of the world, or as we otherwise call 
it, the Truth. Reality involves in it the truth. The 
truth is the only presupposition that embraces in itself all 
other presuppositions of knowledge. They are principles 
of reality, but also of truth. In beginning to interpret we 
have before us as an implication that very end which we 
are trying to attain, the truth. When we set out to know 
the world, we set out also to know the truth. The truth 
is a perfect realization of the work we set out to do. Of 
course all that we know of that truth are its principles 
and so much of it as our finite interpretation has won. 
Yet it is more than a mere thought or air castle of ours. 
We do not form it as we build up the scenes of fairyland. 
It is a necessary implication. It has to be accepted by us. 
It is of reality, yes, of its very tissue and substance. The 
ultimate union of reality and truth may then be said to be 
that picture of the world which the principles of reality 
afford us. The world in its totality is identical with itself 
completely and perfectly interpreted, that is, with the truth. 
Just as the facts are revealed to our minds and interpreted 



THE PRINCIPLES OF REALITY 437 

by them ; and therefore just as truth for you and for me 
involves an apprehension of the facts along with their cor- 
rect interpretation ; so also does that ideal of knowledge, 
the complete truth, involve the universal object and sub- 
ject, the sum-total of the facts and their complete inter- 
pretation. 

But can we not picture all this in some better way? 
The Hegelians seem to have hit the best expression, by 
calling it the Universal Mind. Mind for you and me 
involves the apprehension and the interpretation of the 
facts. That is just what we mean by mind. So the uni- 
verse at large is the universal mind, that is the sum-total 
of the facts and their perfect and complete interpretation, 
or the truth, the ideal toward which we strive in all our 
knowledge. 

But all this exceedingly abstruse reasoning can be stated 
in a much simpler way. You and I do not mean by the 
universe merely that part of it which we have seen and 
known ; but when we speak of the universe, we mean what 
we should perceive and know if our knowledge and power 
to perceive were infinite and perfect. In other words, the 
world does not correspond to the picture of it that you 
and I have, but to the picture of it that you and I would 
have if we knew all there is to be known — the picture to 
which you and I, as seekers after truth, try to attain more 
and more. In short, the universe is pictured completely 
and perfectly only by the ideal knowledge, the truth. 
But we may go farther even than this. If our knowledge 
had reached its ideal, the facts of the world would be so 
fully apprehended by us, and so perfectly interpreted by 
us, that we could no longer separate in thought the reality, 
or the world, from our knowledge of it. In short, as truth 
becomes more and more perfect, we can begin to identify 
it more and more with reality ; and when it is absolutely 
perfect, or the truth, it is one and the same with reality 
or the world it interprets. The universe and the perfect 



438 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

knowledge of the universe are one. It is on this account 
that the Hegelians call the universe the Absolute or Uni- 
versal Mind, God. 

But abstractions are dangerous, and the term " universal 
or absolute mind" is of abstractions one of the most ab- 
stract. It does not mean a mind like yours or mine, it 
means rather an ideal that you and I can picture only in 
the vaguest outline. It is the world perfectly known. It 
is the truth. 



IV. THE MANIFOLD INTERPRETATION OF 
THE WORLD 

CHAPTER XLVIH 

THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 

One great part of our philosophical reflection is now Besides 

completed. We have studied the knowledge of nature ^°°!^^°?' 

and of mind and have sought out its implications, and made up of 

then we have studied knowledge itself and its claim to be inline "^"in 

a knowledge of the world. But now we come to a very fact, these 

different problem. Man is more than a knower, and his truly funda- 

life is more than knowledge. Man is one that wills, and "dental 

, . elements 

his life is a struggle to determine what ought to be, and to than is 

bring into being what is not. Further, man is one that ^^j^^^*^^* 

feels, and his life in every part of it throbs in response to 

the changing world without and within him. Thus, besides 

the world of knowledge we have a world of action and 

of feeling ; and these two worlds also must be the objects 

of our reflection. 

At first sight, knowledge is quite distinct from willing 
and feeling ; but reflection soon reveals a relation of 
closest intimacy. First of all, knowledge itself is not free 
from a volitional element ; for knowing is but one way of 
acting, and therefore knowledge is as truly a product of 
our will as are our bodily acts. This truth at once re- 
veals to the reflective mind a new subject for thought, a 
subject profounder even than knowledge ; for back of 
knowledge lies a deeper part of the self, the will, and 
profounder than the principles of knowing are the prin- 
ciples of that which governs knowing, the will. 

But, again, the mind that knows, not only wills when it 

439 



440 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

knows, but also feels. Knowledge itself does not exist 
as a purely rational or intellectual mental experience. 
Knowledge arouses our feelings, and our feelings arouse 
our knowledge. The world becomes known to us only 
because it excites our feelings or our interest. The long- 
ing for knowledge is the very soul of knowledge. 

Thus the real mind of man, the mind that interprets the 
world, is both a knowing and a feeling mind ; and back of 
both, controlling and directing both, is the profoundest 
part of all our mental life, the will. In fact, we niay look 
upon the will as the principle uniting knowledge and feel- 
ing. And of the two latter, the profounder is feeling, in 
fact, from one point of view it is itself the profoundest of 
all. Because knowledge arouses feeling it has a right to 
be. Feeling without knowledge might well be, but knowl- 
edge without feeling would be monstrous. Moreover, 
knowledge is but the servant of feeling. It gives us the 
means of satisfying the wonder and curiosity inspired in 
us by the world, the thirst for knowledge, and also the 
means, through the laws of causation, of overcoming the 
obstacles that prevent the satisfying of our longings. 
Then, too, the will seems very closely connected with 
feeling, and almost one and the same with it. Perhaps it 
would not be wrong even to look upon them as one and 
the same thing viewed from different points. But not to 
trespass too far upon psychology, and especially upon prob- 
lems arousing much disputation, let us admit as most 
reasonable that whatever we call the power determining 
ultimately the course of our mental stream or the domi- 
nance of any given mental content, it is profoundest. It 
is the ultimate power back of all the mind's work, and in 
its verdicts we must seek for the ultimate principles that 
guide all knowledge and all feeling. 

We must now enter upon a study of this world of will 
and of feeling. We shall call it the world of the Ideal as 
opposed to the world of the Real. 



THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 441 

First of all we must try to state clearly just what we the Real 
mean by the two worlds, — the real and the ideal. The jaeai. 
real is that which is. The ideal is that which ought to be, 
is that which receives the approval of our will, no matter 
whether it exists or whether it be only a thought or an idea 
of that which may e^ist. From this it is quite clear that 
the same thing can be both real and ideal. It is both 
when that which our wills approve has become appre- 
hended by our minds as actually existing ; and then again, 
it is both when either the past or the future is known by 
our minds to be in conformity with the ideals of the will. 
Thus our ideals are whatever our will chooses ; but they are 
not merely acts of will in this narrowest sense. Feeling 
always enters in. Approval without feeling would some- 
how be a mere abstraction. Our ideals then have besides 
that mere element which gives them the name, " acts of 
will " — another element which makes up the feeling of 
approval, or reverence for what the will bids to be, or the 
feeling of satisfaction with what is. 

But a question now arises, because you and I are But can the 

thinkers or seekers after truth : What is the relation ^^t. ^^.r, 

dealt with 

between the knowledge of the real and that of the ideal ? as knowl- 
One thinker might object : " Truth seems to belong to the ^ ^^ ' 
real, for truth is but the correct interpretation of the real. 
How, then, can we, as students of truth, have anything to 
do with the ideal? The ideal represents not knowledge, 
but an activity of the will expressed in certain feelings of 
approval or reverence. It is true that knowledge, or judg- 
ment, is itself one of the mind's activities, and that there- 
fore knowledge itself admits of realization just as much 
as anything else. In fact, knowledge, or science in the 
abstract, is not a reality but an ideal of the mind. It is not 
something that is, but something that each moment of our 
lives we are striving to bring into being. Thus the very 
search for truth is one of the loftiest and profoundest of 
the mind's ideals. It is true that the ideal somehow lies 



442 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



It can, be- 
cause our 
ideals are 
judgments 
and are 
therefore 
knowledge. 



back of our knowledge of the real ; but even though all 
this be true, what has philosophy to do with the ideal ? " 

It has to do with the ideal, because our ideals can, and 
ultimately must, be expressed in the form of judgments. 
Whenever we will to do anything, we are asserting not 
only that the end in view meets our approval, but that it 
does so above all other ends that in the moment also lay 
claim to our consideration. To choose, then, is to assert 
that our approval and our reverence are given to the end 
that we have chosen. Of course, we do deeds that we 
ourselves despise, we do deeds that contradict our better 
selves ; but the same self-contradiction can be pointed out 
in the field of knowledge also. We say things that are 
not true, that we know to be false ; and in the hour of 
heated discussion we let our prejudices rather than our love 
of the truth determine what shall for us be truth. 

Thus we may say that when a man wills he makes an 
assertion. He may contradict himself in so doing, but 
none the less he tells us that the choice was worthy of its 
cost and was in harmony with the whole moral creed of 
the author. In fact, just as you and I hold particular 
scientific opinions about the world, so do we also hold 
particular moral and aesthetic beliefs regarding life, its 
work, and about the world in which we live. All these 
beliefs are judgments just as truly as are the doctrines of 
science. 

Moreover, what we found to be true of our perceptions 
is true also of our volitions. Even when they are not 
judgments literally, they are the equivalent of judgments 
and as such can be transformed into judgments. If you 
and I watch the doings of any rational creature even when 
thought is farthest removed from his mental states, we 
always feel that they admit of being transformed into 
judgments that are their equivalents. Thus as I write, 
each movement of my pen is not a judgment on my part. 
It is a deed and no more ; yet it is more implicitly, if not 



THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 443 

explicitly. Implicitly it tells that I expect certain results 
from the movement of the pen, otherwise I should not be 
writing. It tells that I approve those results, that for the 
time being they are my ideals. Choose whatever bodily 
act you wish, you will always find that it has a meaning 
that you can put into words, or express in the form of a 
judgment. You know why the deed was done, what result 
it was to bring about, and you know that this result was 
somehow implicitly approved by the author of the deed. 
And this is all just as true, though in the moment the 
doer was not literally thinking either of the result or of 
its desirability. Thus our acts, even when they are not 
accompanied by definite judgments, may be transformed 
into judgments that are their equivalent, and hence we 
can conclude that all acts of the will and likewise most 
feelings are judgments that but express explicitly a mean- 
ing contained in them implicitly. 

Since there are also these judgments, we should have in short, the 
defined truth too narrowly had we ignored them, for all an ^Qter- ^° 
judgments as such claim to be true. The difference, there- pretation of 
fore, between the real and the ideal, is not that the one is 
true and that the other lies outside the truth, but that 
the one interprets the world as it is, has been, or will be, 
whereas the other interprets it as an object whose events 
can be modified or acted upon by our wills, and can arouse 
toward themselves an emotional response in us. There 
are thus two ways in which the object of knowledge can 
be interpreted, and we have called the two interpretations 
the real and the ideal. Our doctrine is a denial of the 
view that science alone forms an interpretation of the 
world; and it is a demand that those interpretations 
springing from man's will and emotional nature be given 
a place side by side with science in man's endeavor 
to tell the complete story of the world.^ This doctrine 

1 The opposing doctrine that denies the existence of any interpretation 
of the world other than that given by science is called Positivism, and 



444 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



There are 
three such 
interpre- 
tations of 
the ideal. 



The 

Epistemol- 
ogy of the 
Ideal. 



may be called that of the Manifold Interpretation of 
Reality. 

The question that next naturally arises is : How many 
such extra-scientific interpretations exist, and what are 
their names? We shall not here go into a critical discus- 
sion of the problem our question raises.^ Rather let us 
give the answer generally offered and seemingly rightly 
offered. Besides science there are three other system- 
atized or formulated interpretations of reality, namely, 
religion, morality, and art. 

The philosophy of each of these interpretations will be 
taken up in the succeeding parts ; but the remainder of 
this chapter will be devoted to the epistemology of the 
ideal, since this chapter is the last in the theory of knowl- 
edge, and therefore belongs to problems falling within that 
discipline of philosophy. At the same time this chapter 
is intended to be a connecting link between the philosophy 
of science or metaphysics, and those other branches of 
philosophy which treat of the ideal. 

The epistemological problems raised are, the nature and 
the validity of our judgments concerning the ideal. Do 
our judgments concerning the ideal, or does the ideal inter- 
pretation of reality, claim to be objective in the same sense 
as does our knowledge called Science ? If it does, is this 
type of knowledge valid ? Hence our two problems, — the 
nature and the validity of the ideal. 

In our previous discussion we have learned that all 
judgments or interpretations are interpretations of an 



also Naturalism. Cf. Baldwin's Dictionary under both terms. For the 
general point at issue in this chapter, cf. Sidgwick, Philosophy, its Scope 
and Relations, London and New York, 1902, Lecture II. As parallel 
reading we refer the reader to the greater part of Mr. Balfour's book, The 
Foundations of Belief, 8th ed., New York and London, 1902, especially 
to the introductory sections and to Part I. 

1 The problem belongs rather to an advanced treatise to discuss. 
However, we shall try in later chapters to justify somewhat our dog- 
matic answer. 



THE EEAL AND THE IDEAL 445 

object, and that this object forms alwaj-s a datum of knowl- i. The 
edge. Further, every judgment claims to be true. Its ti^g^iJeai 
very nature of interpretation would be lost were it not a These judg- 
claimant of truth. Therefore our ideal judgments, like all ^ig^^^^in 
other judgments, are an interpretation of an object, and character 
what is more, of the same world, the Given. They like- of science 
wise claim to be true. Ail this follows without further and are 
need of proof from the foregoing chapters. To this extent 
the ideal judgments are surely like the real judgments. 
But here a new question enters. Is there ultimately any 
essential difference between the two classes ? Are not the 
ideal judgments ultimately simply real judgments? We 
have already maintained that there is such a fundamental 
difference. It is the difference between vjhat is and 
what ought to he. So much is clear enough ; but the 
positivist will remonstrate when we add, our ideals are 
objective in the same sense in which the doctrines of sci- 
ence are. 

Now what do we mean by calling them objective. We 
mean, that just as we expect our neighbor and all fellow 
rational beings to accept the doctrines of science when 
once adequately established, so also do we expect our 
ideals to be accepted. Our ideals are not something 
purely subjective, that is, valid for the individual alone, 
and even for him only on the particular occasion when 
they are published. We claim that this positivistic doc- 
trine ignores the plainest of facts. We expect men to 
have day by day the same ideals. We despise a man that 
is inconsistently changing his life's ideal daj^ by day. Fur- 
ther, we preach our ideals and we try to persuade the evil 
and the debased to rise to a loftier view and manner of 
life. We praise the noble and the true and the beautiful; 
and we consider it a part of every cultured person's educa- 
tion that he should learn to value all these things. 

We are not now asking whether or not we have a right 
to preach our ideals and to despise the debased and the 



446 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



II. The 

Validity of 
the Ideal. 
The Ideal is 
presup- 
posed in 
knowledjOfe. 



To deny its 
validity is to 
fall back 
again into 
the absurdi- 
ties of 
absolute 
Skepticism. 



morally inconsistent man. We are simply appealing to 
the fact that we do preach ideals, and do despise and honor 
other men's ideals. The whole history of morality, of 
religion, and of art make up a story flatly contradicting 
the doctrine that our ideals claim to be merelj^ subjective, 
merely valid for the moment. Morality, religion, and art 
would have no history, were such a doctrine true. 

In short, the man that denies that our ideals claim to be 
objectively valid, denies one of the plainest facts in the 
history of mankind. In the name of their ideals men 
have preached and labored, have lived and suffered, and 
have fought and died. Rob history of these facts, and you 
have annihilated it. 

But are our ideal judgments or our ideals valid ? The 
answer to this question we have already indicated in part. 
Knowledge does not stand alone in man's life, but is only 
one element besides others, and, what is more, is in sub- 
servience to those other elements. We are not merely 
knowing beings, we also feel and act; and the office of 
knowledge is to serve as a guide for our actions and as a 
means to make the world what our feelings would have it. 
The ultimate authority in life is not the real, but the ideal. 
Real in this sense is but the servant of the ideal. To 
know is ultimately itself but one mode in which the ideals 
of our minds are realizing. 

Still there is only one proof of the validity of the ideal. 
It is the same proof that we have already employed to 
establish the validity of knowledge, and that is, the im- 
possibility of skepticism. 

Just as the intellectual skeptic placed himself beyond all 
possible proof or disproof, in short maintained nonsense 
and thereby committed rational suicide, so also does the 
ideal skeptic commit an even more extensive self-destruc- 
tion. If our wills and that which governs will, our feelings, 
have no valid right to the judgments that express their 
ideals, then action is impossible, and even knowledge 



THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 447 

could not be. Even the skeptic that brings forward his 
objection against the validity of ideals, by his own objec- 
tion presupposes their validity ; for otherwise every ground 
for objection and for all action has gone from him. Why 
does he object unless it is in response to some ideal of his 
will? Why should we listen to his objection unless that 
very objection shows that some ideal has been infringed 
upon ? Clearly there can be no other reason. 

Our actions of every sort demand ultimately a justifica- 
tion, just as does every tenet of science. But unless we 
grant our minds the ability to deal with the judgments in 
question, that is, to make valid judgments, all is in vain. 
Man's life would at once, if consistent with skepticism, 
become chaotic. Consistency would instantly cease. The 
act of one moment would just as likely undo the act of 
the preceding moment as complement it. Man's life 
would be living each instant solely for the instant. We 
could not look forward and with authority dictate the 
laws that are to govern our life from moment to moment 
or year to year ; for any such law that we set up might be 
destroyed as having no validity. Any law would do just 
as well as any other ; each, no matter how they contra- 
dicted, would have the same right to exist and determine 
life's course. Clearly such a state of affairs would be 
chaos ; and clearly, too, such would be the legitimate con- 
clusion if we deny the validity of man's ideals. 

If there was to be such a thing as a knowledge of the 
real, we found that skepticism must be ruled out of court. 
So now we find, if knowledge or any other act of man's 
will is to be, skepticism denying or questioning the ulti- 
mate validity of his ideals must likewise be set aside as 
nonsense. Knowledge cannot be self-destructive, nor can « 

the will be self-destructive. If the ideal is to be more than Thus the 
mere nonsense, it must have an authority to control the o/^^j^g^i^eai 
mind just as does the real. To know means order, not must be 
chaos. To do means the same. Therefore, both must * ^ ® 



448 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY. 

prion as have involved in them a right not only to be but to deter- 
otthe Real Diine what they shall be. Action must be made possible, 
for inaction is itself impossible. Action must be made 
valid, or rather the judgments that control action ; other- 
wise action is forced to be self-destructive. 

Hence we draw as the very presupposition of action, as 
the very premise of the will, the axiom that the ideal is 
just as valid as is the real. The ideal has absolute author- 
ity over life. As we drew from the axiom of the knowable- 
ness of the world the further axiom that everything must 
be granted knowledge that is required to make it possible 
as an interpretation of reality, so now, too, we must 
draw a similar axiom. If our ideal judgments are valid, 
then all that must be granted them which alone makes the 
ideal valid. All necessary presuppositions about the world 
our ideals are interpreting must be held to be true, true 
a priori. The principles of the ideal must be granted 
knowledge as premises, just as were the principles of the 
real. 



PART THREE 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF PvELIGION 



CHAPTER XLIX 

THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION ^ 

The first question that must be asked and answered, the The 



differentia- 
tion of re- 



moment we turn to study a new way in which man inter- 
prets the world is : How can this new form of interpretation ligiou from 
be differentiated from other forms ? What is religion, and °f knowi^ 
how does it differ as an interpretation of reality from other ^'^s^- 
interpretations ? 

1 The philosophy of religion, ethics, and aesthetics, can he treated 
in this book only with the greatest brevity. The foregoing parts are 
intended to lead up to the problems of the nature and validity of 
religion, and to afford the groundwork of their solution. On this account 
somewhat more room has been given to Part III. The parts devoted to 
ethics and pesthetics are intended merely to open up the main philosophical 
problems of both disciplines, and there to leave the subject. The student 
desiring to study either should read an elementary text-book devoted to 
the particular discipline. 

Historical Note. 

The philosophy of religion as a distinct discipline of philosophy dates 
from Kant. Before his time it was an undifferentiated part of meta- 
physics. Beginning with the ascendency of Christianity as the religion 
of the Roman Empire, we find philosophy serving as the handmaiden of 
religion, and continuing to do so down to the days of the Renascence. 
During this period the doctors of the Church tried to systematize their 
faith through philosophy and to formulate a rational apology for the dogmas 
that they accepted as premises. It was not until the days of the Re- 
nascence that science and with it philosophy began to take again an inde- 
pendent place in European culture. But the moment they did so, the 
dogmas of the Church were no longer premises, but teachings to be 
criticized and sifted, and there now came a time when an attempt seriously 
to study religion as such arose. Yet during these centuries it was 
combined with metaphysics, as such names as theism, atheism, and 
pantheism suggest. Metaphysics was treated distinctly as an answer to 
religious problems. 

451 



452 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Have they 
different 
objects, the 
Natural and 
the Super- 
natural ? 



From the theory of knowledge we have learned that 
the ultimate subject of every judgment, or, to put the 
same thought differently, the object of every interpretation, 
is the Given, the world of facts. Hence we must say at 
once that religion does not differ from other interpretations 
by having a different world or object to interpret. At first 
sight this contradicts the popular notion of what religion 
is ; for generally we mean by religion the attempt of man 
to tell the story of a world other than this in which we 
live. Religion has to do with the world beyond, with a 
sort of transcendent M^orld. Science has to do with the 
world of the natural^ religion with the world of the super- 
natural. 

But does religion deal with a supernatural, or tran- 
scendent world? And first of all, what do you mean by 



The great scientific discoveries, especially astronomical, geographical, 
and physical, were introducing into modern thought views that seriously 
conflicted with religious dogmas ; and as a result, there was in the 
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a marked rebellion against revealed, 
or orthodox, religion. One very important movement was that of the 
freethinkers in England and on the Continent during the eighteenth 
century. In England it was closely connected with the philosophy of 
Locke and the distinguished school of English moralists of that time, 
and took chiefly the form of Deism (a combination of the older orthodox 
view of creation and of God's existence apart from the world with a 
purely mechanical conception of the universe). Thus it brought religion 
seemingly into harmony with the mechanical natural philosophy of the 
day. The student should read Section 35, on Natural Religion, in "Windei- 
band's History of Philosophy (page 486), also, in Falckenberg's History 
of Modern Philosophy, in Chapter V, the section on Deism, and Chapter 
VI, on the French Enlightenment. 

Kant brought a new epoch into existence. After him the philosophy of 
religion depended not merely upon the theory of knowledge, presupposing 
it, but also upon the distinction between the real and the ideal. Before 
him religion was thought to treat of the real, but after him that view 
became an anachronism. 

Kant and the writers after him bring up another problem, one within 
the philosophy of religion, namely, the problem of the relation of religion to 
morality. Doubtless they are closely related, but Schleiermacher rightly 
maintained against the Kantian view, i. e. that religion and morality are 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 453 

such a world ? To the latter question two answers have (a) The 
been given, — a primitive one and a metaphysical one. The P^^i^ive 
primitive and less critical doctrine means by the supernatu- snper- 
ral a part of the material universe either actually located ^^^^^^ • 
somewhere on or within the earth, or lying beyond our 
earth somewhere in the heavens. The supernatural world 
is a land in which dwell the gods and demigods, the 
Olympus of Greece, Hades, the Heaven and Hell of the 
Middle Ages, the Happy Hunting-ground of the Indians; 
or again, according to still less developed races, spirits or 
gods have their homes practically everywhere : in the sky, 
a mountain, in a brook, or a tree, or even a stone -or a 
stick. 

most closely related, a truly independent place for religion. From the 
test it will be clear that we could go as far as to say that not only 
morality, but all interpretation of the world, is closely related to religion, 
in fact, presupposes a religion. 

The important writers on the philosophy of religion are among others 
the following : — 

Kant, Die Religion iunerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft. 
1798. 

Schleiermacher, Reden iiber die Religion. 1799. 

H. Siebeck, Lehrbuch der Religionsphilosophie. Freiburg und Leipzig, 
1893. 

L. W. E. Raixwenhoff, Religionsphilosophie, translated from the Dutch 
by J. R. Hanne. Braunschweig, 1889. 2"-' Aufl. 1894. 

James Martineau, A Study of Religion. 2 vols. 2d ed. 1889. 

By the same author, The Seat of Authority in Religion. 3d ed. 1891. 
Also Essays, Reviews, and Addresses. 4 vols. 1890-91. 

Edward Caird, The Evolution of Religion. 2 vols. Glasgow, 1893. 
Also, Book IV, in his The Critical Philosophy of Kant. 

J. A. Leighton, Typical Modern Conceptions of God. New York, 1901. 

Parallel Beading. 

The student desiring further information on the subject-matter of this 
chapter is urged to read The Varieties of Religions Experience, by William 
James, New York and London, 1902 : also The Foundations of Belief, 
by A. J. Balfour. Further references are : An Introduction to the 
Philosophy of Religion, by John Caird. New edition. Glasgow, 1901 ; 
and Das Wesen der Religion, etc., von W. Bender, Bonn, 1886. For the 
history of religion he will find an admirable summary and reference to 
larger works in History of Religion, by Allan Menzies. New York, 1895. 



454 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

We need not linger over the criticLsm of such views of 
the supernatural, for modern science has long ago given the 
death-blow to these fancies invented in our race's child- 
hood. The astronomy of Copernicus and Galileo soon 
transformed the spatially finite world of the ]\Iiddle Ages 
into the universe in infinite space, as conceived to-day. In 
our spatial world, with its sidereal systems stretching on 
indefinitely in every direction, astronomy can find no room 
for a material heaven above the sky. Nor can geology find 
a place in the interior of the earth for a hades. To the 
modern scientist such a material supernatural world is a fairy 
story, and as such deserves two sorts of treatment. If it be 
offered to us as a beautiful fairy tale, handed down from 
older generations, let us admit all the beauty and poetry it 
contains, and enjoy it fully. But if it be offered as serious 
truth, let us brand it at once as an absurdity, and those 
who believe it as men blinded by tradition. However, to 
pass from science to philosophy, such a supernatural world, 
even if it existed, would not be truly supernatural. If there 
were such a world, or land, or cave, it would be no more 
and no less than part of our material universe. It would 
belong to science to discover its whereabouts and describe 
it to us, as much as it belongs to science to tell us about 
the sun and planets, the North Pole, and the ocean bottom, 
the craters of volcanoes, and the earth's interior. If such 
a world be the world about which religion tells us, then 
clearly religion is merely a part of science, just as is the 
geography of the North Pole, or the astronomy of the 
moon. 
A later But perhaps it will be objected, religion deals with a 

part of the universe that can never be discovered by 
science or be explored by man. We reply : If, as you say, 
this world cannot be discovered, why can it not ? If you 
have a reason, it can hardly be other than one of the fol- 
lowing. The world of religion is too far away to be seen 
by the most powerful telescope, or too small to be visible 



view. 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 455 

by the most powerful of microscopes, or both. But let 
the reason be what it may ; from what we have learned in 
the theory of knowledge, we know that such a world, if it 
be part of the world of facts, must be revealed to us, other- 
wise it cannot form part of the object of knowledge. If 
we can gain access to the facts of that world, we are no 
worse off in attempting to interpret it than we are in 
attempting to interpret the world of imponderable matter, 
or of chemical atoms, or again of the interior of the earth. 
Let that world be what it may in the whole universe of 
facts ; if it is to be interpreted by us, we must have access 
directly or indirectly to information concerning it, and this 
in the shape of facts. If we get these facts, science will 
interpret them. If we do not get them, we cannot inter- 
pret such a world as part of the world of facts without 
being guilty of utter nonsense. If religion is nonsense, 
then let us away with it forever. 

There remains the other view of the supernatural world (&) The 
of religion. Religion is not part of science, because reli- natural 
gion interprets a transcendent world, a world lying be- identified 
yond the facts, a world that as such cannot be revealed transcen- 
to our senses. This doctrine would be a form of realism, ^.^i^*- 
and as such we have already dealt with it in the chapter 
on the problems of the Given. It must stand or fall with 
the doctrine of realism. The conclusion we reached in 
that chapter was that realism is at bottom sheer nonsense. 
Therefore we must conclude that a new way of looking at 
religion is called for. 

Religion does not differ from science or any other inter- Religion has 

pretation of reality by having a different object or part of ^"j^g^j.^^^ 

the world to interpret. All interpretation is an interpre- world to 

tation ultimately of the world as a whole ; and therefore ^ut^^the^ ' 

religion like science interprets all facts. How, then, can same world 

religion differ from science ? science. 

Relio-ion asks and answers different questions concern- Thediffer- 

. ci • 1 ence is m 

ing the world from those of science. Science, as we have the question 



456 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



It asks con- 
cerning the 
world. 



As opposed 
to science, 
religion 
deals with 
the ideal. 



learned, tries to determine the necessary order in which 
events occur. It seeks the laws of nature, the uniform!- " 
ties of coexistence and sequence obtaining throughout 
reality. Religion, on the other hand, ignores these ques- 
tions and deals solely with the problem of the character of 
events ; and it does so from one particular point of view. 
It interprets the individual events not from the point of 
view of other events that may be compared with them, 
thus calling one bad and the other good, as does morality ; 
but, far from this, it interprets the individual event from 
the point of view of the universe as a whole. It seeks to 
determine the character of each event, not as an event 
among events, but as an event in its infinite relation, as 
a part having a meaning for the world as a whole. 

All this seems, doubtless, very abstruse, but let us see 
whether we cannot make it plainer. Religion, ethics, and 
art all interpret things and events in so far as they cause in 
us emotional and volitional response. We do not merely 
know the world ; we act in it, we feel toward it, we rever- 
ence it, we disapprove, we enjoy, we admire, we worship. 
Now all such attitudes of our will and emotional nature 
give the world as interpreted by us a character. The world 
is for us not a mere bare succession of events in necessary 
order. It has character. It has for us an interest, a 
value. All its elements are not equally reverenced by us. 
We choose. We try to eliminate. We become occasion- 
ally a factor in determining what shall be and what shall 
not be. That is, in religion, in morality, and in art we 
are ascribing to things a character, a value, a merit. 

But ultimately what do we mean by the term" character"? 
We mean the attitude our wills should take toward an 
object. It is thus an answer that always contains the word 
"0M(jr/if." It ever states '•'•ivhat ought to 6e," " hoiu we ought 
to act in reference to this or that.''' 

From the foregoing we can easily distinguish between 
relierion and science : but it will at once be seen that reli- 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 457 

gion is more closely related to morality and to art than 
to science. Hence it will be more difficult to separate 
religious problems from theirs. The greater difference, 
namely, that between science and religion, we have already 
pointed out in our chapter on the Real and the Ideal. 
Science deals with the real, with what is, has been, or will 
be, with the order in which events occur. The other 
interpretations deal with the " ought," with the ideal, and 
look at events as objects toward which our wills must take 
some attitude. Hence our new problem limits itself to 
the differentiation of religion from other ideal interpreta- 
tions. 

What differentiates them? Religion deals with the As opposed 
world as a whole, with the infinite, whereas the others deal ^nd^art \t 

with the finite. But this answer is very abstract and may deals with 
, . , . , , . the Infinite. 

be quite misleading. 

We have already said that religion tries to find the 
meaning of the part as a member of the world whole, 
whereas ethics deals with events in relation to other 
events. We may express the sariie thought thus: Reli- 
gion sees in each event something that must qualify real- 
ity as a whole and thus reveal the character of the universe 
in its totality. Hence, it asks : What is the character of 
the universe? or, which is the same question. What is the 
character of every event as such, every event as a member 
of the world-total ? 

Ethics, on the other hand, does not ask what is the 
character of an event merely as such, but what is its 
character as compared with that of other events. For 
religion there is no difference between one event and any 
other, whereas for ethics it is just this difference in char- 
acter that forms the problem. For religion every event 
reveals the character of the system to which it belongs, 
and it is just this world-character that religion attempts to 
discover. Ethics, however, wants to know the character 
of each event to determine whether that individual event 



458 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Phi- 
losophy of 
Religion. 



The chief 
axiom of 
religion. 



The Belief 
in God. 



ought to be, or whether some other ought to take its place. 
Religion answers the question : What is the character of the 
world as a whole, and therefore of every event as a member 
of the ivhole or genus f Ethics answers the question : What 
is the character of this or that eveyit as an individual or as a 
species ? Religion's problem is generic, ethics' problem is 
specific. 

Such is religion. However, we are not now studying 
religion, but the philosophy of religion ; and. this meaas 
that we are not concerned with the different answers 
given by man to problems belonging to religion,^ but with 
the principles that have governed or must ultimately govern 
such an interpretation. Our problem is : What are the prin- 
ciples of religion P 

Tlie fundamental axiom or principle of religion declares 
that the world is ideal, that the real world and the perfectly 
ideal world are one and the same, or again, that the ivorld 
as a ivhole deserves our absolute reverence. 

Here we have ao^ain one of the meanings of the term 
" God." In epistemology we saw that one meaning of that 
word was the ultimate truth, that the world as a total 
involves not only the facts, but a perfect knowledge or 
interpretation of the facts. The religious meaning of the 
term we now see to be the character that we ascribe to 
the world as a whole. To use the language of religion, 
the world is the revelation to us of God. As we interpret 
it, we interpret him. In fact, we mean by his existence an 
answer to the question : What sort of a world is it of which 
we creatures are members ? If the world is such that we 
must despise or condemn it, then it is not divine. There 
is no God. We are atheists. If, however, the world 
as interpreted by us is divine, then we believe in God. 
Therefore we mean by the belief in God this interpretation 
of the world that calls it divine, that makes it a world 

1 On this subject the reader is referred to the interesting and suggestive 
work of Professor James, The Varieties of Religious Experience. 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 459 

deserving our absolute reverence. ^ To such a believer the 
world is God's manifestation of himself and as such ex- 
presses his character. This does not identify God and the 
world, because even the atheist asserts the existence of a 
world ; nor is it an assertion that there is a creator, for 

1 The term " God:' 

The primitive and popular conception of God implies that he is a being 
more or less like man. He sees, he is angry, he reasons, he wills, he 
dwells in heaven, and so forth. To this are added many assertions that 
quite contradict the original belief. He is infinite. He is immaterial. 
He is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent. 

To the thoughtful, though they may for convenience or for emotional 
and pious reasons retain this language of anthropomorphism, the con- 
ception itself is an anachronism. The manifestation of God to us is the 
infinite world. God is revealed to us in no other way than through that 
world of facts and the principles and knowledge that interpret the facts. 
Hence if we try to picture him, we should have to picture the universe, 
or his creation or manifestation. Thus we are forced to say that any 
anthropomorphic picture of God is idolatry ; but no doubt it is an ex- 
cusable one, for we men need the picture and we cannot picture the 
infinite. If picture him we must, no doubt the highest known creature 
of his, the ideal man as a spiritual being and personality, is the noblest 
picture. 

But, it will be asked : Does this deny God's personality ? Personality 
has a very definite meaning as applied to man ; but when applied to God, 
the meaning is surely quite altered. Yet we admit, if we have to picture 
God, by all means picture him as spiritual and as personal. The question 
is not whether we prefer the term " personal " or the term " impersonal " : 
God's nature so far exceeds our ability to picture, and his nature tran- 
scends so far our finite ideals, that the best we can conceive, even per- 
sonality, must be infinitely less than his real nature. We should 
therefore say, with Paulsen, God is not impersonal, but suprapersonal. 
(Cf. Paulsen, Introduction, page 243, Section 9, on the Relation of the 
Pantheistic Notion of God to Religion. ) 

There is one more point to be mentioned. What does atheism mean, 
and who is the atheist ? We reply, Atheism is the denial of ideality as 
ascribed to the world. He who says that the world is evil, or had better 
not be, he is an atheist. He makes the world a manifestation of evil. 
He denies God. In short, atheism is here synonymous with absolute 
pessimism. Theism admits of relative pessimism, as we shall see in the 
chapter on the Nature of the Good, Chapter LII. Clearly it is taking too 
narrow a view of God's nature to call a man who objects to anthropo- 
morphism an atheist. 



460 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Validity 
of the belief 
in God. 



It must be 
shown to be 
axiomatic. 



The 
Proof 



even the atheist must admit this. It is, as we have now 
seen, the assertion of the character of the creator as mani- 
fested in his creation. Thus we might ask the question, 
Does God or the devil create the world? From all this 
we see that the ultimate principle of religion might be 
expressed still otherwise. It is the belief in God, in his 
existence. 

But how is this principle that the world deserves our 
absolute reverence, or this belief in God, to be justified? 
The answer forms the remaining topic of our chapter. 

What right have we to say that the world is an ideal 
world? Clearly we have no right to say so, if this right 
must be gained by searching the whole world over for our 
evidence. If our problem can be solved only by empiri- 
cal science, that is, only by consulting the facts, we shall 
never answer it, for the facts that must be consulted are 
infinite in number. No amount of evidence can tell us the 
character of the world as a whole, any more than it can 
give us an astronomical description of the whole realm 
of space. No amount of finite evidence can tell the story 
of the infinite. 

If this is so, how can our question be answered ? There 
remains clearly but one way. If it is to be answered, it 
must be shown to be involved as a necessary principle in 
our very attempt to interpret reality at all. If our prin- 
ciple is truly a principle, a necessary premise, then its valid- 
ity must be accepted under the penalty of overthrowing 
knowledge as such, in short, under the penalty of maintain- 
ing nonsense. But how can we show our principle to be 
axiomatic? By showing that it is presupposed in all acts 
of our will, that is, in all acts whatsoever, and hence even 
in knowledge, for knowledge is ultimately as much an act 
of our will as is anything else.^ 

You and I are members of a great world-system. Our 
bodies are manifestly a portion of the material world. 



1 Cf. Sigwart, Logic, Section 105. 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 461 

From it they draw the energy that enables them to con- we men are 
tmue those processes we call life. They are acted upon cousciousiy 

■^ '' ^ Ijartners and 

by forces from without, such as food, the air, the light, the co-workers 
heat ; and they in turn react upon the world through mus- creator and 
cular contraction. As a wheel in a clock is a member of must be so ; 
the whole clock movement, being acted upon, and in turn 
reacting upon other wheels, and thereby performing its part 
of the whole mechanical work that measures time, so also is 
our body a part of the material world that surrounds and 
includes it. Our psychology tells us that the same truth 
holds of our mind. It is inherited from our parents with 
its instincts, actual and potential, already present. Edu- 
cation modifies these instincts and constructs the habits 
and the varying abilities to reason and to act rationally ; 
but education itself is ultimately due to influences that 
come from the world without, and are reenforced by the 
world within, our instincts. Thus our mind, too, is a 
member of the world at large. It has to live in this world. 
It is limited in its activities by this world. Its whole life 
is a reaction to its environment, and its environment is 
but a part of the world. Here we have one fact, and this 
fact is one of our premises. Our life in all its elements is 
part of the world-process. 

On the other hand, it is a fact that you and I choose, 
that 5^ou and I attempt to determine our reactions to envi- 
ronment, that you and I occasionally take part and must 
take part in the world's work. No matter what we do, it 
is part of the general activities of the world. If we try to 
do nothing whatsoever, we are but deceiving ourselves; for 
our refusal to act has its effects upon the world just as truly 
as though we had acted. If we refuse to be members of the 
world and commit suicide, we have again only deceived our- 
selves. Our death cannot be without its effects. With- 
out our living bodies in the world it would be different 
from what it would be were they present ; and this differ- 
ence is just the very result of our own act. We have left 



462 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



and there- 
fore our 
lives pre- 
suppose 
necessarily 
our ap- 
proval of 
the world. 



Even 

knowledge 

presupposes 

this. 



our influence in the world, and the world to all eternity 
will be different because of our choosing to shorten our 
lives. 

Therefore do what we will, you and I are parts of the 
world ; and no matter what we try to do and not to do, 
you and I take part consciously in the great eternal activ- 
ity that constitutes the world-process. Thus our second 
premise adds to the first by saying : Not only is our life 
in all its elements a part of the world-process, but also we 
ourselves are and must be conscious partners and co-work- 
ers in that process. 

Now for our proof. If this premise be true, and it is 
beyond dispute, our lives must be one continuous contra- 
diction, or else our wills must ajjprove of the world-proce.ss 
as a whole. The world-process must gain from our wills 
an absolute reverence, or else there is this contradiction, 
our wills are and must be partners in a work that they de- 
spise. Human action is one complete contradiction in all 
its elements unless there be ultimately a complete identity 
between the perfectly ideal world and the world in and 
with which we have to be partners. Now did this absolute 
contradiction exist there could be no longer a rational 
justification for conduct of any sort. Rationality, as such, 
must be meaningless because utterly useless. 

But let us state this last point more in detail. To 
know, or to interpret the world, is simply one way in 
which our minds act. Therefore back of knowing there 
is the will, and the will in leading us to know is but real- 
izing one of its ideals. In fact, its demand that in know- 
ing we shall act or know rationally is an ideal. Hence, if 
the will's ideal be as such throttled at the very start, 
knowledge becomes an impossibility, for it would be as 
absurd to strive for rationality as it is to try to be irra- 
tional. We should struggle for what the world will not 
let us be. Hence if the will attempts to lead us to knowl- 
edge, it necessarily presupposes that rationality is a possi- 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 463 

bility, and that it is justified in so presupposing, otherwise 
we 'are from the start siieptics. 

But what is true here is true in all departments of life. Without 
Life would be saturated through and through with skepti- ^VmrXzed 
cism were not this ultimate premise granted our wills, by skep- 
That our wills do act, that we strive to know, that we 
strive to bring rationality into all our doings, is sufficient 
evidence, is complete proof that our wills do presuppose 
as a premise, and as a premise a 'priori^ this ultimate prin- 
ciple of conduct. 

If this premise be disputed, we have pointed out the 
skepticism that must result, for we have shown that the 
will must make this presupposition, that it is a necessary 
one. But perhaps you still reply : Why is skepticism to be 
rejected thus summarily ? Ma}^ not this new type of skep- 
tic be in the right? 

What ! a skeptic be in the right ? If he he rights there Volitional 
^s no right! Skepticism cannot be proved or disproved; is afabsiird 
and what is more, cannot be lived up to. The very skep- as is 
tic who rejects the ideality of the world is forced the next skepticism, 
moment, yes, the very same moment, to take part in the 
world's work. He is forced to have faith in that very 
principle which he doubts. He is forced to take sides, to 
act upon the world, and to determine its course, even in 
the very instant in which he claims that he is unable to 
give it reverence. His very act belies and must belie his 
volitional skepticism, just as did the intellectual or rational 
skeptic belie his skepticism. 

Skepticism in the world of action is thus nonsense for 
the same reason that skepticism was in the world of knowl- 
edge. Just as the skeptic then had to assume the validity 
of knowledge to maintain his position, so also does he now 
in the world of action. Why be a skeptic or why be any- 
thing? Why is anything better or more worthy of accept- 
ance than aught else ? Why urge on us what at best is no 
better than what M^e had before? In short, the skeptic 



464 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



As is our 
knowledge, 
so also are 
our ideals 
finite and 
imperfect. 



cannot urge one particle of proof or justification for his 
attitude. If be does so, he gives up at once his skepticism 
and asks us to listen to reason. If his position is not 
rational, if it admits neither of proof nor of disproof, then 
we need pay no attention to him. He has already com- 
mitted rational suicide, and the most that we can do for 
him is to read the burial office over his rationality and 
accountability. 

The will does, and the will must, presuppose an ultimate 
harmony between itself, that is, between its ideal and the 
world in whose work it has to take part. This alone 
makes life rational, this alone makes it endurable ; whereas 
the other attitude would mean the complete paralysis of 
all attempts to interpret the world and life. 

In this principle, then, we have one even more ultimate 
than the principles of knowledge themselves ; for this 
principle lies back of the very attempt to know the world, 
just as the will lies back of all mental activity. It is the 
principle of conscious activity as such. Thus religion lies 
at the back of life as a whole and forms its ultimate justi- 
fication ; and this ultimate justification rests upon the a 
priori premise that the real world is also the ideal world. 

There is one misinterpretation of this principle against 
wliich the reader should be warned. Of course the doc- 
trine that the real world is the ideal world does not mean 
that you or I can form for ourselves a picture of this per- 
fect ideal to which reality corresponds. We cannot do it 
in the field of knowledge. We believe that a perfectly 
rational and complete system of judgments would consti- 
tute a true story of reality ; but no one supposes for a 
moment that we can ever put together such a system. 
All that we can do is to tell within what limits it must 
fall, that is, how it is limited by its very principles and 
nature. To attain to the rest is the goal that we try to 
reach, but which as finite minds we never can do more than 
approach as we gradually add to our finite knowledge. 



THE NATURE AND PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION 465 

So, also, in forming a picture of the world as an ideal 
world, we cannot do this any more than we can write out 
a complete science of all nature. As we can assert the 
ultimate harmony between knowledge and the world that 
w-e try to know, so, also, can we assert the complete har- 
mony between the will and the world in which we have to 
act. The former proposition does not mean that much of 
our knowledge is not false, that all must be true. It 
means that we always have the hope of discovering our 
mistakes if we are making errors in our knowledge. It 
tells us that truth cannot, if thoroughly sifted, be mistaken 
for error, or error for truth. How far we shall actually 
accomplish our ideals in life is, therefore, a very different 
question from whether they, as such, admit of a conceiv- 
able accomplishment. 

To return to the principle of the will. The ideals you 
and I have are doubtless most imperfect, and will always 
remain so. Religion must grow and develop as does 
knowledge. It is liable to all the imperfections due to 
the finitude of man's mind, just as is' science. The ideal, 
then, to which the world corresponds, means solely that 
there is no inherent contradiction in our living as such. 
The contradictions come from other sources and admit of 
a conceivable eradication. In fact, the whole course of 
the history of civilization and of religion is little but the 
eradicating of errors that man's mind has made and the 
establishing of better knowledge and better ideals in 
place of the old and outgrown ones. This process must 
continue as long as history continues. The will knows 
that as it progresses toward the truth the more perfect 
does its ideal become, and that the perfect ideal is 
inherent in its goal, even though this goal is beyond the 
horizon of its finite vision. It knows that all contradic- 
tion between itself and the world in which it lives is 
due to its own imperfection. It knows that as its ideal 
becomes more perfect, this friction, or contradiction, will 



466 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

gradually be done awa}'. The will's very ideal, then, is to 
do away with the friction. The will seeks to conform 
itself to the world. The world, or God manifesting him- 
self, is not its enemy, but its friend ; and, in the words of 
TheSonship religion, God is its Father. This is the doctrine of man's 
the^ather^ sonship. His life now becomes a fulfilling of his Father's 
hoodof God. will. There is no inherent contradiction between the two, 
for the very longing of the will is to be the perfect son, to 
gain that sight of God which means the possibility of per- 
fect harmony between the will and its creator. 

But all this is not forced upon the will from without. 
The very unfolding of its true nature is the forming of a 
conscious picture of the ideal, just as the complete knowl- 
edge of the world is but the working out to perfection of 
the very life of the intellect. This is the ultimate har- 
mony between the mind as interpreter of the world and 
the world as the object of mind, or as the Hegelians put 
it, the identity of thought and reality. Or, to adopt the 
language of religion, it is the dogma that man is made in 
the image of God. Between God and man there is no 
inherent contradiction ; because man himself partakes of 
divinity, and his true self is to be godlike. 

Again, this principle contains the essence of man's 
belief in that complete fatherhood of God w-hich may be 
called an all-ruling providence. The will sees ultimately 
in everything the working out of a power that is ideal. 
It may be that you and I cannot see the why and the 
wherefore of our lives, or of this or that event in them. 
None the less our wills bid us believe that no contradic- 
tion can ultimately be there. They bid us have absolute 
and complete trust in the world and all that its creator 
brings into being day by day. Our principle thus makes 
life one continuous act of faith and trust in the ideality of 
the world, and bids us grant toward the world, or God 
whose manifestation it is, that absolute reverence which 
constitutes and alone can constitute true worship. 



CHAPTER L 

THE PKOBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN ^ 

In the previous chapter we learned that the fundamental The prob- 
principle of religion maintains the ideality of the world, Ijg^^ij^^e ^j 
and we drew the conclusion that religion is that interpre- and sin. 
tation of the world which tries to tell the story of reality 
in accordance with this principle. Religion tries to form 
an ideal picture of the world as a whole and to behold each 
event as a member of this ideal system. 

As a consequence, religion is called upon above all else 
to reconcile with itself those elements of life which seem 
farthest removed from the ideal. Its problem is to explain 
how in an ideal world elements seemingly so at variance 
with the ideal can have any existence. These discordant 
elements we may sum up under the three terms, " death," 
" evil," and " sin." How can an ideal world admit of death, 
evil, and sin ? Do these not contradict the world's being 
a perfect world, a world deserving absolute reverence ? 

One answer to this question we must point out, but pass These three 
quickly by, for this answer is really no answer whatever, q^^^^^/^*^^^' 
It has been denied by some religions that evil and sin exist sions, and 
at all, that they are more than mere delusion. We rid need to meet 
ourselves of both the moment we rid ourselves of the delu- the problem 
sion. This answer is no answer at all, for the delusion 
itself, then, becomes the evil, and the delusion surely exists. 
Such a delusion is as great an evil while it exists as could 
be the real evil that such a religion denies. In short, the 

1 Literature. 

For a fuller discussion of the subject of this chapter the student Is 
referred especially to : John Caird, The Fundamental Ideas of Christianity. 
2 vols. Glasgow, 1899. 

467 



468 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

facts themselves show that evil and sin exist. It may be 
that we interpret these facts wrongly and give them a 
significance that they do not deserve ; for if they be mere 
delusion, we do wrong to ascribe to them an objective 
existence. Still they are just as great an evil if they exist 
subjectively, for they are evils because of their effect upon 
our minds. Hence as subjective evils they play all the 
part ever maintained to belong to the objective evil. 

It is no answer to this to say that we are able to rid 
ourselves of such purely subjective evil. We may be able to 
rid ourselves of it, but experience shows that the task is by 
no means an easy one ; for as a matter of fact, objective or 
subjective, evil has been very tenacious, and the human 
race has done very little toward its complete suppression. 
History is full of evil and sin ; and even though some 
future race may succeed in doing what we fail to do, still 
the evil that has been and is remains. to be explained and 
harmonized with the belief in the ideal. The delusion 
existing for a short time demands explanation as truly as 
though it existed for all time. If evil be a blot upon our 
ideal, then the world that admits evil in an}- form for any 
length of time cannot be called an ideal world. The 
devil's stamp is upon it. Hence, that religion which treats 
evil lightly, which bids men not believe in what is so man- 
ifest, can never hope to be a permanent answer to man's 
deepest problem. There is in this solution too much appear- 
ance of ignoring the real question at issue to carry long- 
abiding conviction. Objective or subjective, death, evil, and 
sin are realities and must be dealt with as such, for nothing 
will be gained by the distinction between the two types of 
reality. 1 

1 Fessimism. The doctrine that evil is more abundant in the world 
than happiness and pleasure is called Pessimism. As we have noted be- 
fore, there may be an absolute pessimism which is synonymoiis with atlie- 
ism. Here, however, we refer to the other type of pessimism, or relative 
pessimism. This doctrine maintains simply that at one time, period, or 



THE PROBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN 469 

Death is. How should religion interpret it ? At once i. Death, 
we shall hear the answer: "Death destroys only the body, Ourprobiem 
not the soul. After death comes a life beyond the grave, ^.^® a deeper 

•^ o ' significance 

a better life even than the one here on earth." But the than that 
question to which this is an answer belongs, as we have tail^""""^" 
already maintained, within the field of science, and facts 
alone will enable us to give it a settled answer. 

But it is not the question ultimately at issue. Even 
though we prove that a life beyond the grave awaits every 
child of man, and animal too if you will, are we really any 
nearer the complete answer to our question than when we 
started out? Grant that there is a life after death, is that 
life in turn immortal? How, by any empirical evidence, 
can we look forward into all eternity ; for, remember, reli- 
gion deals not with the finite time or the finite event as 
such, but with the finite event as a member of an infinite 
system ? Religion has to answer for the world as a whole, 
for eternity. 

What, then, is the truly religious problem of death ? It Our life 
is this. We demand for our life an eternal meaning. If J^'^eternai 
you and I are to take part in the world's work, we demand worth, or 
that the part which we take retain its significance for all 
time : otherwise, what reason can be given why we should 
seriously take part at all ? If we build only to have all 
that is finished destroyed forever, why should we build at 
all ? Such a picture of life would make it a meaningless 
play of events, like children building sand-castles on the 
seashore which the next tide will wash away. That is, 

place, evil is more abundant than happiness. This theory is clearly not 
a philosophical one, but is quite empirical and can be reconciled with any 
philosophical view the moment such a philosophy admits the existence of 
evil, for evil during very short intervals at least is doubtless more abun- 
dant than happiness. Hence as philosophers, we shall neglect any further 
discussion of relative pessimism. The reader is referred to the interesting 
discussion of the question in Paulsen's System of Ethics, the chapter 
on Pessimism. Also to the same author's Schopenhauer, Hamlet, Mephis- 
topheles : Zur Naturgeschichte des Pessimismus. 2d ed. 1902. 



470 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

we should be led back into the very skepticism from which 
our first principle rescued us. If we are to act, and if our 
acts are to have an absolute justification, then our lives 
must be a real part of that infinite and eternal system, the 
ideal world. They must be more than mere events that 
come and go, without any significance extending beyond 
the few years in which they have their being. For us to 
take an earnest part in life, life must have an eternal mean- 
ing. This is the religious principle of immortality. Our 
lives must be granted eternal worth; and we must feel 
that as we live and work, we are doing so for eternity. 
The re- But you ask : What has all this to do with death ? We 

lation of reply : It has much to do with it. Before you and I are 

this axiom ... . 

to the belief in a position to answer anything whatsoever concerning 
taii^°^°^' ^^^® facts beyond the grave, we can answer the ultimate 
question at issue ; for we do not depend upon this or that 
chance fact turning up in our experience in order to give 
the answer. We have at hand a principle that tells us 
all that we need ultimately to know in order to ascribe 
to life eternal significance and in order to meet death with 
complete trust in the ideality of things and of life. No 
matter how the question of the grave be answered, we are 
not dependent upon that answer. Life for us is of su- 
preme value. Life is to be lived to the full. Life takes 
a part, an eternal part, in that universal life of God, and by 
the part thus taken wins an eternal meaning and in that 
sense an immortality. Death for us, then, is not necessa- 
rily a contradiction to our complete faith and trust in God. 
If in the divine order of things life is not to continue 
beyond our earthly days, then ultimately well and good. 
An ideal universe does not need that continuance to make 
it ideal. Such will be our belief, hard as it may be to live 
up to. If our lives are needed, they will continue ; if 
not, they will not continue. Either fits into our ultimate 
faith without necessarily contradicting it. 

In other words, this principle does not claim for us im- 



THE PROBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN 471 

mortality in the ordinary sense of that term. It leaves it 
an open question for either science to answer by searching 
out evidence or religion to answer by constructing the 
most exalted ideal that our finite minds enable us to form. 
The philosophy of the scientific problem of immortality 
we have alread}'- considered. Regarding the purely reli- 
gious problem, we can say but little without departing too 
far from the problems alone properly belonging to philoso- 
phy. Of course man seems to demand for himself a life 
beyond death, and to regard his annihilation at death as a 
contradiction of an ideal world-order ; but whether or not 
this religious interpretation of life be final, is a matter for 
the religion of the future, and not for philosophy, to settle. 

However, there is a further element in the problem that its implied 
does belong to philosophy. Does not the very term " ideal " g^ernaUife^ 
force upon us the belief in an eternal consciousness for of God. 
whom the world can be ideal ? This question is evidently 
parallel to that other question which we had to ask in the 
theory of knowledge. If the interpretation of the facts as 
well as the facts themselves forms an ultimate element of 
reality, must we not assume along with the eternal succes- 
sion of facts their complete interpretation ? So here, if 
the world as an object upon which we consciously act is 
an ideal world, must there not be eternally present in it 
that element which alone can make it an ideal world, 
namely, an acting will? This eternally acting will would 
be called God's will. 

This problem again is a very abstract one, and therefore 
carries with it all the suspicion, danger of error, and liabil- 
ity to be misunderstood that such problems always involve. 
In the theory of knowledge our statement amounted to 
saying: The ultimate fact revealed to our minds as we 
look at the world is mind interpreting an object. Now our 
statement amounts to saying : The ultimate fact is mind 
striving to realize its ideal. We could not divorce the in- 
terpretation of the world from the facts thereby interpreted. 



472 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The eternal 
life of God 
and man's 
life. 



No matter how far we might cany our abstraction, a mere 
fact with nothing more to it would not leave us something 
that could stand by itself and so form the conclusion of 
our abstraction. The mere fact or object of interpreta- 
tion needed, for it itself to exist, the interpreting mind to 
stand by its side. So here in religion the ultimate fact is 
not a mere fact divorced from all else. It is an object 
that has side by side with it a will modifying it. In the 
one case interpretation was ultimate. In this case a will 
realizing its ideal is ultimate. 

But do not let this abstract view be misunderstood in 
one way. It does not assert that you or I, or any other 
finite will must always continue to be, any more than the 
theory of knowledge made out of the individual mind 
interpreting its object a universal mind. This will, too, 
must be universal. It is the Infinite Will. Our doctrine 
maintains that the world, as a whole, must be looked upon 
as a will, realizing its ideals. But here, again, there is a 
danger to be avoided. This principle does not assert more 
than the bare element left by abstracting all other ele- 
ments. It is simply an attempt to describe a high abstrac- 
tion, and in one way means that we can picture God as a 
will like ours, not, however, that we ascribe to God liter- 
ally a will in the sense that our psychology uses the term. 
It means our ultimate inability to divorce by abstraction 
the interpretation from the object interpreted and likewise 
the ideal from the object in which it is being realized. 

All this does not prove your mind or ray mind to be 
immortal ; but it does compel us to believe that our finite 
struggle to realize this or that ideal has as a counterpart 
an infinite struggle, and further, that our finite struggle 
and the infinite struggle belong together, that the finite 
struggle is a member of the infinite struggle. To put the 
matter in another way. Even though you and I pass 
away, the work that we are doing belongs to an infinite 
work and will therefore be continued. It does not say 



THE PROBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN 473 

whether this must mean that you and I will go on with the 
work in another life or not ; but it does say that the world 
could not be an ideal world if our life, that is, the realiz- 
ing of our ideals, were really annihilated by our death. 
Our life in the sense of the realizing of what is truly and 
rightly the perfect ideal of our life must be thought of 
as ever continuing. Otherwise we are forced into a con- 
tradiction of the ultimate principle. 

No doubt to most this abstract life will seem a very poor 
substitute for the concrete life in the body ; but we do 
not mean it to be any such substitute, for we do not mean 
by this abstraction more than the working out of our ulti- 
mate principle for all that it is worth. As a religion 
it is not worth much, because religion needs more than 
mere abstractions to make up its content, just as science 
needs more than the mere abstract principles of mathema- 
tics and abstract mechanics and the law of causation in 
order really to be science. Religion, then, will go on to 
seek a concrete presentation of an ideal world in accord- 
ance with this principle. Just how it will be worked out, 
philosophy cannot tell. But philosophy does demand that 
whatever be the concrete doctrine of religion, it shall 
assure man that his life has an eternal worth and an 
eternal continuance, at least in as far as that life is the 
working out of the perfect ideal. 

To pass to our second problem, namely, that of evil. Evil ii. Evil. 
exists, that is, evil in the sense of pain and sorrow, suffer- 
ing and misery. Pain we cannot look upon as something 
that deserves to be. We cannot reverence suffering as 
such; and consequently we are forced, at fbst sight, to 
regard pain as a blot upon reality. Can religion reconcile 
the existence of evil and the ideality of the world ? What 
will be the principle in accordance with which this recon- 
ciliation can be accomplished? This is our next philo- 
sophical problem. 

Pain, as we know, is that element in the object or the 



474 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

Evil world which the will tries to annihilate. Or, to use the 

necessary term " evil," evil is that element in the world against which 

to the 1 ■ 1 

will's the will struggles. In short, the very struggle or the 

struggle ; ^-^ jgpends upon the existence of evil. In a world with- 
out evil there need be no attempt for the will to realize 
its ideal ; and therefore a world without evil would mean 
that the will had reached its absolute goal and that its life 
had ceased. But against such a view it may be said : We 
make the world a mere type of treadmill to keep the will 
busy, for evil is justified simply as an instrument to give us 
somethinor to do. Such would no doubt be a fair conclu- 
siou if our argument stopped at this point, but there remains 
a second part. We have shown that evil is essential to 
the will's activity ; we must now show that the will's 
activity is itself essential to an ideal world, 
and struggle Remember that we have before us as a problem the jus- 
tiaui?me'!i't tification of the existence of evil in an ideal world. Why 
of the ideal the world should be ideal, why it is not enough for the 
world to be merely a real world, a world toward which our 
wills are in no vv^ay called upon to take any attitude what- 
ever, this is an absurd question. Just as well might we 
ask : Why cannot our world be intuited directly by us in 
such a way that we do not have to interpret it through 
judgments ? Such a question is absurd because it does not 
admit of a conceivable answer. It takes us entirely out- 
side of the limits within which all questions as such have 
to be answered. Thus as a question it is meaningless. 
To apply all this to the question in hand : We can never 
tell why the world should be an ideal world. It is an 
ultimate truth that we will, that we do take an attitude 
of reverence or the opposite toward the objects of the 
world. It is a fact that for us to live means to struggle, 
to attempt to realize ideals. It is within this ultimate 
interpretation of reality, or view of the facts, all other 
interpretation must be given. We know as an ultimate 
piece of knowledge that the world is presented as a seat 



world, 



reverence. 



THE PROBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN 475 

of struggle, that it has significance for us only as a seat 
of struggle, that it can be an ideal world only because our 
wills can take an attitude of reverence toward it. 

Now the question becomes. What is it ultimately that for it is the 
our wills reverence ? Is it the ideal accomplished or is it «t™ggie as 

J.1 ii 11 T 1 • ,. , such our 

rather the actual accomplishing of the ideal? The accom- wills 
plished ideal, if it did not lead on to a new battle, would 
be for us the cessation of struggle, and that would mean of 
life itself. We need to struggle, for to struggle is to live, 
and not to struggle would be eternal death. Back of this 
ultimate need of life itself we cannot go. It is an ulti- 
mate need, without which life loses not only its signifi- 
cance but ceases to be life at all. This, then, alone can be 
the justification called for by our question. We need evil, 
for evil is essential to life's struggle, and life's struggle is 
life. The Nirvana in which the struggle had ceased would 
mean to us the cessation of all life, and with it the cessa- 
tion of all meaning and so of all ideality in the world. 
The ideal world, then, must be a world in which ideals are 
realizing, not a world in which a will as such has no 
place. 

The problem becomes harder as we turn from that of iii. Sin. 
evil to that of sin. By sin we mean our conscious failure The prob- 
to realize our true ideal. How can such failures on the ^®'^" 
part of the will to accomplish its true task, or to win in its 
own struggle, be possible in an ideal world? How can 
there be room in an ideal world for the sinful will ? Is 
not sin, not in degree but in kind, a far different picture 
from evil ? Evil can give the will its task, but sin signi- 
fies actual failure. 

How is the reconciliation to be accomplished ? Were 
the individual sinful will all, then no doubt such a world 
could not be ideal. But the individual sinful will is not 
all, for the world as a whole is ideal, and is not as a whole 
sinful. Sin belongs to the finite, not to the infinite ; and 
somehow this truth must contain the reconciliation. An 



476 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Sin is due to 
ourfinitude, 
and this is 
an ultimate 
and there- 
fore in- 
explicable 
element of 
reality. 



Redemption. 
Man is both 
finite and 
infinite; as 
the latter he 
can find 
alone in God 
the complete 
satisfaction 
of his ideals. 



ideal world must be shown to admit the jjresence of sin in 
the finite object. 

Now the solution of this problem is very similar to the 
answer of the question : How in a world of truth can 
there exist the ignorance and error of our finite minds? 
They start out to accomplish a task that is really infinite, 
namely, the complete interpretation of reality, but they must 
fall short of the attainment of this ideal because of their 
very finitude. So, also, our wills. They, too, start out 
with the task of realizing the perfect ideal, of subduing 
evil completely ; but for finite wills the task is impossible, 
and sin is thus only the consciousness of the will's finitude 
and resulting failure. 

Our problem then becomes solely this : How can the 
finite exist in the infinite ? The question again takes us 
beyond all possible explanation, for all explanation must 
start out with the finite, as we saw in our study of the 
principles of reality. In short, we must accept sin as we 
did evil, as belonging as such to an ideal world. Both are 
inexplicable because they would have to be interpreted in 
terms of themselves. Our principle then is forced to 
recognize both as ultimate elements in an ideal world and 
to charge the very attempt to explain them with being 
nonsense. Thus philosophy answers both questions by 
ruling them out of court. They are unanswerable ; that 
means they are not valid questions. The problem of man's 
life must, therefore, fall within and not without these 
ultimate situations, and must therefore be answered in 
terms of a world containing both sin and evil. 

There remains one mare doctrine to mention here, that 
of redemption, which arises out of this ultimate interpreta- 
tion of life. The individual will, unable to escape the 
bounds of its finitude but yet possessed with ideals that 
demand infinity, can find its sole ultimate satisfaction not 
in self but in the infinite. The self is sinful, God is holy. 
Therefore, in God alone can man find the satisfaction of 



THE PROBLEMS OF DEATH, EVIL, AND SIN 477 

his ideals. If he depend wholly upon his own life, that 
life must be a complete disappointment, and his ultimate 
verdict must be, " I am sinful." As knowing and willing 
creatures we are finite, and our days must be passed in sin 
and ignorance. Thus the existence of the perfect inter- 
pretation of reality and the perfect accomplishment of the 
ideal forms the means of reconciling our finite ability with 
our infinite longing. Man is not sufficient unto himself. 
To make his life complete he must seek to find in God's life 
his redemption. 

It is in accordance with these abstract principles that Condu- 
religion must seek for the concrete reconciliation of man's 
imperfect mortal life with the ideals of his will. No 
doubt as his knowledge is but imperfect and can fulfil 
but very imperfectly the demands of its principles, so also 
will his religion be imperfect. The principles demand a 
perfect reconciliation, whereas man can give but the imper- 
fect one of the finite mind. Yet back of all there lies the 
belief in truth as such ; for, as there is a perfect interpre- 
tation of reality toward which we as scientists strive, so 
also is there a perfect reconciliation between the real and 
the ideal, toward which our religion strives. Of this 
much, the very principles that govern and have to govern 
our interpretation assure us, and assure us absolutely. Of 
this ultimate faith in the world, the disappointments of 
the finite life cannot rob us ; for, as the justification of life, 
it can never be lost sight of while we remain rational 
creatures. 



CHAPTER LI 



A CRITIQUE OF RELIGION ^ 



The Field 
/Religion. 



Science and 
Religion 
complemen- 
tary. 



With all or almost all the foregoing chapters as premises, 
we are now in a position to discuss two important prob- 
lems that together may be said to make up a critique of re- 
ligion. These problems are, first, the true field of religion, 
and, secondly, the warfare between science and religion. 
The two are ultimately one problem. 

We have seen that religion has before it a problem 
quite distinct from that of science. If this were not so, 
then religion could be merely a popular, traditional, and 
outlived science, and must ultimately give place to its 
stronger rival. But we have argued that the essential 
problem of religion is one that is not, and cannot be, 
included in the problem of science. On the contrary, the 
very attempt, as such, to solve the problems of science, pre- 
supposes the answer to more fundamental problems. Be- 
fore the will undertakes the task of science, the principles 
of its activity must be granted it ; and these are ultimately 
the principles of religion, the principles of the ideal. In 
short, the interpretation of the real presupposes ideals, and 
these in turn those ultimate ideals, the ideals of the infi- 
nite, that according to our definition constitute religion. 



1 Literature. 

Tor the controversy between science and religion, consult : A History 
of the Warfare of Science with Theologj' in Christendom, by A. D. White. 
New York, 1896. 

History of the Conflict between Science and Religion, by J. W. Draper. 
4th ed. New York, 1875. 

Cf. also James, Varieties of Religious Experience. 

478 



A CRITIQUE OF RELIGION 



479 



Now it is true, historically speaking, that religion has 
not stood merely for these ultimate ideals ; but we firmly 
believe that the essential element of religion has ever been 
made up of them. It is a law of evolution that the early 
state of any developing structure lacks the complexity and 
definiteness of parts, or differentiation of organs, that the 
same structure possesses in its highest stage. The ovum, 
from which the animal develops, has not the division of 
organs, and with them the division of labor, that the 
mature creature possesses. This same law holds of reli- 
gion and science. Religion, historically speaking, cannot 
always, in fact can seldom, be differentiated from science. 
The sharp separation of the two that our philosophical dis- 
cussion presupposes exists as a fact even to-day, only in the 
mind of those carefully and philosophically trained. The 
church, the clergy, and people have only here and there 
differentiated the problems of religion from those of 
science. In the case of the Roman Church we find it still 
a guardian of mediaeval philosophy and science, and feeling 
itself responsible for this great mass of scientific interpre- 
tation. But not only does the Roman Church do this ; 
much the same may be said of Protestantism. The church 
feels itself called upon to maintain and to defend scien- 
tific conclusions concerning the historical events recorded 
in the Bible, and concerning the authorship and genesis 
of the writings therein contained. Likewise, it feels itself 
responsible for a philosophy that will serve as a rational 
justification of the various dogmas which it teaches. Yes, 
we may even go farther and add that, for many conservative 
communities, the Bible and the church are still the teach- 
ers of much of the science that they possess. 

All this is true enough, but still it is only half of the 
truth. Since the days of the thirteenth century there has 
been going on a gradual process of differentiation between 
the problems of science and those of religion, and this 
differentiation is proceeding rapidly to-day. At first the 



Historically 
speaking, 
the two 
have been, 
and are still, 
but slowly- 
differentiat- 
ing them- 
selves from 
one another. 



The history 
of this 
movement 
since the 
thirteenth 
century. 



480 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

church opposed the study of nature altogether. Later it 
admitted Aristotle's writings, and with them allowed to 
enter the thoughts of her children a problem that had to 
prove revolutionary. In the days of the Renascence the 
church did all in her power to prevent the adoption of the 
Copernican theory, and in short felt herself responsible for 
the science of astronomy. Those days went by ; and that 
they did go by, means simply that one more problem was 
separated from religion and handed over to science. 

However, the controversy should not be charged against 
religion more than it is charged against science. We must 
remember that you cannot raise charges against religion till 
religion is far enough differentiated from other forces to be 
dealt with by itself. The powers that persecuted Galileo 
were religious, but were also many other things besides, in- 
cluding as they did the scientific and political body of the 
day. The struggles of the Renascence and general Refor- 
mation were the growing pains not merely of religion but 
of science, of morality, of art and politics. The resistance 
was due to the undeveloped thought and civilization of 
the times, not, however, to any one power on which you 
and I can now place our finger and call religion. Men, 
not a mere abstraction like a type of truth, were causing 
the resistance ; and when the men changed, the truths they 
held changed ; and the world's problems thereby went 
through a new stage of differentiation. 

To pass quickly along the path of history, another great 
differentiation takes place in the nineteenth century. We 
refer to the Darwinian doctrine of evolution. Before Dar- 
winism gained its victory, the church felt itself res^Don- 
sible for a particular theory of animal and plant creation. 
That new stage passed ; the church is, or will be, readj^ to 
let science go its way, and to renounce all responsibilit}^ in 
biological matters. 

To-day we are in the midst of a new struggle. There 
has arisen the critical study of the origin and genesis of 



A CKITIQUE OF RELIGION 481 

the books of the Old aud New Testaments, and therefore 
also of the origin and genesis of both the Jewish and 
Christian religions. The church feels itself responsible 
for definite views on these subjects, and as ever before 
feels that religion herself is at stake. The historian of 
civilization will doubtless smile at the anxiety and see 
simply one more growing pain added to the long list. No 
doubt the critical students are right in principle, no matter 
what they may be in the detail of their conclusions ; and 
no doubt the church will learn that it can give the biblical 
critic and religious historian the same freedom it has given 
the astronomer and geologist. 

What the next struggle will be, we are not prepared to say. 
Perhaps psychology will have its turn, and the doctrine of 
immortality especially may be called into the struggle. 

But all such questions aside, what is the significance of 
the great movement beginning in the thirteenth century 
and differentiating religion from science ? There can be 
but one answer for the philosopher who accepts our prem- 
ises. Religion and science have two distinct problems to 
answer, and these two great types of interpretation must 
therefore become further and further differentiated as 
civilization and human thought progress. 

If our philosophy and our interpretation of history are (i) The 
sound, both religion and science have some things to learn, true office of 

. . religion and 

i he leaders m religious thought and church government her duty to 
must learn what ultimately belongs to science and what 
does not. If mistakes are made, they are probably the zation 
result of claiming what belongs to another. Whether 
we like it or not, a great mass of doctrine still held to te- 
naciously by the church really belongs to science, and some 
day will be peaceably or forcibly taken away. No man or 
set of men can withstand the mighty stream of history; 
and therefore our religious leaders are called upon to-day, 
as perhaps they never were before in the world's history, 
to adapt their sacred charge to the new environment. 
2i 



an advanc- 
in2' civili- 



482 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

The work of religion is to give man the ultimate ideals 
for which he shall live, to show him the meaning and des- 
tiny of his life, to reconcile him to the evil, the sorrow 
and disappointment that life has in store for all, to give 
him ideals and inspiration to overcome these obstacles, to 
save him from the power of sin, to renew in him an enthu- 
siasm for righteousness, and finally to fill his heart with 
that love and trust in the infinite order of things which 
alone can make him a son of God and can bring his finite 
life into harmony with the infinite life of God. 

To do her work well religion needs science, needs the 
results of science, needs all the help that science can bring 
her. But religion is not called upon to be science, to 
assume in any way a responsibility for the conclusions that 
science reaches. Religion is to seek the aid of science, 
but never to tyrannize over science. Truth is truth, and 
a love for truth is itself an element of religion. How dare 
she that is called upon one moment to teach this love of 
the truth the next moment forbid man to reverence and be 
faithful to that love ? No, let science go her way and let 
religion gratefully accept in her work all the help that 
science can give her. Let religion not be disturbed be- 
cause one after the other traditional anachronous scientific 
dogmas that were once so intimately associated with her 
faith have now to be separated from her. 

No doubt as these great changes, these stages in the 
growth of civilization, come upon us, religion is presented 
with a harder and harder task to fulfill. No doubt her 
leaders must be men of greater caliber than in the days 
when their work was merely to uphold a tradition. No 
doubt as man comes to know better and better the world 
in which he lives, the older superstitions and errors that 
gave some men an easy leadership over their fellow-men 
will be taken from them. No doubt progress in civiliza- 
tion means a democratic community, and in a democratic 
community leadership is a harder task than in the more 



revolution- 
ized. 



A CEITIQUE OF RELIGION 483 

primitive society. The superstitions of an earlier day 
could drive men to subjection ; but men truly freed from 
superstition can no longer be led by fear but only by those 
soul-compelling ideals whose power to inspire can never 
pass away, because life itself would first have to cease. 

Bub what is the philosophical meaning of all this ? We The idea of 
may put it in one sentence. Religion must revolutionize ^^"^ ^''p®'"' 

1 J.- i; J.1 1 -^ , natural 

her notion of the supernatural. Religion is supernatural must be 
and must always be such, but man's notion of the super- J 
natural is surely changing. The supernatural dare no 
longer mean truths contradicting the canons of science. 
The laws of causation, the conservation of mass and 
motion, must hold true the world over, or else science 
must stop short and give up her task. Nowhere can 
science admit exceptions to her ultimate canons ; and the 
moment a demand is directly or indirectly made that she 
shall, that moment a contest must begin in which the phi- 
losopher will place his wager on the side of science. The 
supernatural does not have to do with some part, or section, 
of the universe. It is not an Olympus. The supernatural 
deals with all the world. The supernatural differs from 
the natural as the real differs from the ideal. In fact, the 
supernatural is to mean the ideal and only the ideal. 
But why then call it supernatural ? " Why ? " do you 
ask? Because the ideal precedes and governs our inter- 
pretation of the real. The real gains its significance only 
from the ideal presupposed by it. 

Therefore, to those who think our critique harsher 
against historic religion than against the leaders of science, 
we reply, so much the greater honor to religion. Of the 
two religion should be the leader. Religion must be back 
of all life, and, therefore, back of science. Alas ! then, if 
her leaders so far forget their most noble office that they 
drive the scientist, whom they should inspire, into open 
rebellion. Science demands her constitutional rights and 
will insist upon having them. Our critique then presup- 



484 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(II) Science 
has sinned 
against re- 
ligion. It 
must itself 
presuppose 
religion ; 
and its 
substitutes 
for religion 
can be only 
makeshifts. 



poses that tke true office of religion is the noblest and 
highest in the whole realm of life ; and, therefore, twice 
great is the crime of unfaithful leadership. 

But the leader in religious thought has right enough to 
complain against science ; and it is the philosopher's office 
to judge justly between the two. In the name of science 
religion has been greatly sinned against. Scientists have 
over and over again held up to man finite objects or ends, 
and have bidden him fall down and worship what are thus 
mere idols of man's own making. We cannot live ultimately 
for the finite ; and the scientist that thinks we can is as 
much an idolater as the semi-savages of old. Man must 
have an absolute foundation for his life, and, therefore, any 
finite ideal can at the best have only relative validity. 
You ask us to live for man, for humanity, for civilization ; 
but what are these ? The day will come according to your 
own story when man and civilization, the earth and all, 
will have passed away. True, we should live for these 
things, but not because they are absolute ends. They 
must get their worth from some deeper principle or else 
they have no worth whatsoever. Did we in actual fact, 
yes, did you in actual fact live true to your very dogmas, 
you would paralyze life itself, and with it science. Sur- 
reptitiously you yourself hold on to deeper principles, and 
they give you that enthusiasm for the truth for which you 
have so often and nobly sacrificed self. In short, you are 
blind to the very presuppositions which give validity to all 
that you do and to all that you know and teach. Back of 
your science, and necessarily so, stands religion ; and whether 
you see her presence there or not, there she stands and 
there you ignorantly worship the Unknown God. You 
that find naught but superstition in religion, are your- 
selves teachers of a superstition that seriously taken and 
consistently lived up to would not drive us back merely 
to barbarism, but would drive us out of life altogether. 

Science, on her side, must recognize religion and her 



A CRITIQUE OF RELIGION 485 

valid field. Science must accept her leadership, and if 
science does not do so, then so much the worse for science. 
You few leaders will become a small band by yourselves, 
but you will find that mankind at large will follow you 
only so far and then will commence to desert you. If 
you want the Middle Ages back again and science packed 
away once more in the attic, then renounce religion alto- 
gether and make science synonymous with irreligion. You 
will then in time surely have what you want. 

But we look forward to such a future of science as little 
as we look forward to the downfall of religion. Of course 
our argument, as far as it is historical prophecy, presup- 
poses that we have not yet reached the apex of our civiliza- 
tion. Whether we have or not is not for us philosophers 
to discuss, but belongs to the historian. We are discuss- 
ing the path of progress apart from the question whether 
we shall progress or not. If we are to move forward, both 
science and religion will be differentiated more and more, 
and each will be given its own field and its own rights. 
Such is our contention philosophically. We argue it 
from the very nature of both interpretations. 



PART FOITE 

THEORETICAL ETHICS 



CHAPTER LII 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD ^ 

The philosophy of religion has shown us that man must 
bring his life into harmony with the life of the universe at 
large, with the infinite or ideal world. The attempt to 
interpret this ideal world of which the individual life is a 
member and from which it gains its highest ideal, is reli- 
gion. But further thought shows at once that if we desire 
a complete guide for life, we must seek for further truths 
than those which are taught by religion, for all truths have 
some bearing upon life. That is, besides religion, which 

1 Historical Note. 

The student is urged to read the Introduction in Sidgwick's Out- 
lines of the History of Etliics. 4th ed. London and New York, 1896. 
It is but nine small pages long ; or in its place the second chapter, on 
The Origin and Development of Ethical Problems, in Hyslop's Elements 
of Ethics, New York, 1895. 

Literature. 

For the general history of ethics the beginner is referred especially 
to Sidgwick's Outlines of the History of Ethics, and to the very interesting 
chapters of Paulsen's Ethics contained in the first book ; also the second 
chapter of Hyslop's Elements. These books will introduce him to a wider 
literature on the subject. 

For systematic ethics the beginner desiring further study should read 
carefully Hyslop's Elements of Ethics (for the purely philosophical and 
theoretical problems and for further references), or in its place Muirhead's 
Elements of Ethics, Scribners ; or Mackenzie's Manual of Ethics. 4th ed. 
London, 1900. For an exceedingly interesting discussion of ethics, in- 
cluding the more general of its practical problems, the student should not 
fail to read Paulsen's System of Ethics ; of. also G. H. Palmer, The Field 
of Ethics. Boston and New York, 1901 ; and Watson, An Outline of 
Philosophy, Chapters IX and X. 

Among other important works on ethics are the following : — 

John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism. New ed. 1871. 

489 



The prob- 
lems of ac- 
tion or life 
are solved 
but in part 
by religion. 
There 

are also the 
particular 
problems ; 
and these 
belong to 
Ethics. 



490 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Division of 
Ethics into 
Theoretical 
and Practi- 
cal Ethics. 



gives man his highest and universal ideal, there must be a 
science that teaches him the ideal choice amid all the vary- 
ing circumstances of life. Religion teaches us to obey the 
will of God ; but a science dealing with the concrete prob- 
lems of life can alone tell us what is the will of God in 
each individual act. Without these particular rules the 
will would be at a complete loss how to choose. Did we 
merely consecrate our lives to God and there stop, life 
itself would be a mere form, a mere empty residue after 
abstraction. Thus there is besides the universal ideal the 
concrete life of each moment, and in it we are called upon 
to deal with individual concrete problems. Now the 
science that gives us guidance in these individual problems 
is Ethics. Hence we may define ethics as the science of 
conduct. Further we shall divide ethics into two distinct 
parts: into Theoretical Ethics and Practical Ethics. The 
first formulates the principles of conduct ; the latter, the 
empirical laws, or norms, of conduct, or again, the moral 

H. Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics. 5th ed. London and New York, 
1893. 

T. H. Green, Prolegomena to Ethics. Oxford, 1883. 2d ed. 1887. 

James Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory. 2 vols. 3d ed. Oxford 
and New York, 1891. 

Herbert Spencer, Principles of Ethics. 2 vols. 

F. H. Bradley, Ethical Studies. London, 1876. 
Leslie Stephen, The Science of Ethics. London, 1882. 
H. Calderwood, Handbook of Morality. London, 1872. 

Eduard von Hartmann, Phanomenologie des sittlichen Bewusstseins. 
1879. 

Wilhelm Wundt, Ethics : An Investigation of the Facts and Laws of 
the Moral Life. Translated from the second German edition by E. B. Titch- 
ener and others. London and New York, 1901. 

H. Hoffding, Ethik. (German translation by F. Bendisen. Leipzig, 
1887.) 

Th. Ziegler, Sittliches Sein nnd Sittliches Werden. Strassburg, 1890. 

C. Sigwart, Vorfragen der Ethik. Freiburg, 1886. 

J. Baumann, Handbuch der Moral. Leipzig, 1879. 

G. Simmel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft. 2 vols. Berlin, 1892-93. 
S. E. Mezes, Ethics : Descriptive and Explanatory. New York and 

London, 1901. 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 491 

code. The former is a discipline of philosophy, whereas 
the latter is an empirical science. 

The problems of theoretical ethics may be grouped Theprob- 
under two headings : the Nature of the Good and the ^h^o^^ti i 
Nature of Moral Responsibility. We shall deal with the Ethics. 
former problem in this chapter. 

What is the nature of the good ? From what has gone The Nature 
before, we may at once conclude: the good is an ideal, a <^f*^^^°^"'- 
law of our wills. The good is that general law or ideal 
of the will that it tries, or, to be consistent with itself, 
must try, to realize in all its doings. 

There has been much dispute among moralists in deter- Two mean- 
mining precisely what this ideal of the will is ; but if two Qfod*" * ^ 
distinct problems are kept apart, much of the difficulty (a) The 
may be avoided and the many views reconciled. In short, the Good ° 
our term " the good " is equivocal. There are a number (6) The 
of elements in the s^ood iust as there are in the true, ff^®''®'^'^® *^* 

" J the will for 

Hence if we use the term in a narrower sense, and denote the moral 
by it one of these elements, we may readily give rise to a ^^' 
misunderstanding ; and this is so especially when we em- 
phasize one of the elements to the exclusion of the others. 
The ofood contains a number of elements. First of all 
there is the ideal which the will sets up for itself ; then 
there is the totally distinct fact, the actual conformity of 
the will to its ideal ; and even this latter fact may be of 
two kinds, — the conscious conformity to the ideal and the 
unconscious. The ideal which the will sets up for itself 
we may call the criterioyi of the good. It describes the 
most general characteristics of that which the will seeks 
to bring into existence. It tells us the end or aim of the 
will. The other element, the conscious submission of the 
will to the law that it has set up, is nothing more than 
the will being consistent with itself. This latter, there- 
fore, is the act or conduct which is called good or bad, 
whereas the former is merely the criterion that guides the 
will in acting. 



492 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Rever- 
ence 
for the 
Moral Law. 



The Cri- 
terion of 
the Good. 



Let US first discuss the conformity of the will to its 
ideal. You and I never call an act good or moral that is 
done quite unconsciously, quite without any motive. Did 
we do so, we should call inanimate objects moral, for often 
by mere chance they bring to pass what our wills approve. 
Thus, we should call an excellent clock moral because it 
fulfills so well the purpose for which it was constructed. 
Moreover, we exclude from the good or the moral not 
only acts of inanimate objects, but also those acts which 
we do quite unintentionally, or quite without forethought. 
Of course the habit or other cause of our unintentional act 
may have been the result of a deliberate choice or intent, on 
our part, and in that case may be called good or bad. Thus, 
our bad habits that we might have prevented or broken 
may be charged against our wills ; and hence the results of 
these may be just as immoral as though we had deliberately 
done the evil deed. Yet, even in this case, it would be 
the original conscious act of the will that could alone be 
called the sin. Hence, we may conclude : That act alone 
is moral or immoral which is done consciously in accord- 
ance with or in rebellion to the moral law. Further, we 
may say that the only good thing in all the world is the good 
will, the will acting in conscious obedience to the moral law. 
No other thing or act but this can be called good. Goodness 
is thus reverence for tlie moral latv. 

But clearly, if a good life were merely a reverence for 
the moral law, it would be as far removed from actual life 
as truth would be from actual knowledge, did it consist 
merely in a longing to be consistent. To know means 
to deal with individual problems ; to be good or virtuous, 
too, means to perform countless different deeds. But 
what shall guide us in deciding which of these deeds are 
good and which bad? To answer this question we must 
analyze the will's reverence for its acts. What is it 
ultimately in the concrete doings of life that makes one 
result desirable and another undesirable, that makes one 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 493 

the object of the will's approval and choice, the other of its 
rejection and condemnation ? What constitutes the princi- 
ples of the moral law, or the ultimate criteria of the good ? ^ 

This question has been answered in two ways and hence Twotheo- 
has given rise to much dispute. But the two ways are Hedonism 
not necessarily contradictory, and therefore they admit of and Per- 
reconciliation. One party maintains that " pleasure or 
happiness " (excellence of feeling') is the criterion of the 
good or the end of conduct. The other that " virtue or 
perfection " (excellence of being') is such. The former 
theory is called Hedonism, the latter Perfectionism. 

Hedonism, then, is the theory that makes pleasure the Hedonism. 
ultimate end of conduct. " But the pleasure sought may 
refer either to that of the subject or to that of the object., to Kinds of 
the individual himself, or to others comprising the family, 
tribe, or society at large. On this basis Hedonism takes 
two forms, according as the pleasure is individualistic or 
universalistic, egoistic or altruistic. Hence there are two 
subdivisions of the theory, which we may call Egoism 
and Altruism., or Individualism (ethical) and Socialism. 
Utilitarianism may be added as combining both of them. 
Egoism or Individualism asserts that all conduct must be 
judged as good or bad, according to the consequences to 
the individual subject. Altruism or Socialism, on the 
other hand, includes the pleasure or happiness of others 
and may require the sacrifice of some happiness on the 
part of individuals, perhaps the minority, to that of others, 
the majority. The question of kinds of pleasure here does 
not enter into the definition or division of the theory." ^ 

But it is just this latter statement that shows the Criticism of 
inadequacy of hedonism. Pleasures do differ in kind, and «'^<^'^^«"^- 
the followers of this school have themselves come to admit 

1 For a very clear presentation of this subject the student is advised to 
read Chapter VIII (The Theories and Nature of Morality) in Hyslop's 
Elements of Ethics. 

2 Hyslop, Elements of Ethics, p. 354. 



494 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The Hedo- 

liists must 
admit a 
qualitative 
difference 
between 
pleasures, 
and must 
include 
this in the 
criterion of 
the Good ; 
and further, 
this quali- 
tative 
element is 
not itself 
pleasure. 



it. The will does select not merely on the basis of a 
quantitative difference between one pleasure and another 
or between one pain and another, but also on the basis of 
the character or quality of the pleasure. All pleasures are 
not on the same moral footing ; and if this be so, some 
other element than the mere pleasure must enter in as a 
criterion of the good. 

" ' It is quite compatible with the principle of utility to 
recognize the fact that some kincU of pleasure are more de- 
sirable and more valuable than others. It would be absurd 
that while, in estimating all other things, quality is con- 
sidered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures 
should be supposed to depend on quantity alone. 

'" If I am asked what I mean by difference of quality in 
pleasures, or what makes one pleasure more valuable than 
another, merely as a pleasure, except its being greater in 
amount, there is but one possible answer. Of two pleas- 
ures, if there be one to which all or almost all who have 
experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective 
of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, that is the 
more desirable pleasure. If one of the two is, by those 
who are competently acquainted with both, placed so far 
above the other that they prefer it, even though knowing 
it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent, and 
would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasure 
which their nature is capable of, we are justified in ascrib- 
ing to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality, so 
far outweighing quantity, as to render it, in comparison, of 
small account.' " 

" Put plainly, this is simply saying that the pleasures 
of appetite are different in kind as well as degree from 
the pleasures of knowledge, so that the merit of 
pursuing the latter compared with the former depends 
wholly upon the difference of quality in the pleas- 
ures. Similarly the moral difference between malice 
■ and respect, theft and honesty, avarice and generosity, 



THE NATUEE OF THE GOOD 495 

deceit and veracity, selfishness and conscientiousness, is 
the difference in quality of the pleasures that accompany 
them. According to this it is not the difference in quan- 
tity, but the difference in quality of pleasure that distin- 
guishes between the character of lying and the character of 
truthfulness. This seems a very plausible solution of the 
problem, but it is nevertheless an entire abandonment of 
utilitarianism and its principles. The name, of course, is 
retained, but the thing itself is abandoned. We must 
make this clear. 

" First, all utilitarianism previous to Mill was based 
upon the notion that pleasure was the same in kind, and 
that the forms of it differed only in degree. The adoption 
of Mill's doctrine of qualitative differences was an abandon- 
ment of this position. Second, in Bentham's theory ' pleas- 
ure ' was a generic term comprehending qualitatively every 
case of its occurrence, and actions did not differ in their 
quality, but only in the degree of pleasure and pain 
incident to them. But in Mill's doctrine ' pleasure ' is 
not only a generic term, but that ' pleasure ' which deter- 
mines the right is sjjecific and denotes a quality which is 
not found in the same term generically taken. Now, this 
view of it is a contradiction. If ' pleasure ' can denote the 
satisfaction or agreeable feelings that follow actions without 
distinction of kind, then it is not the pleasure that makes 
the distinction. On the other hand, if it be the pleasure 
that determines the distinction between right and wrong, 
then this term cannot apply to the agreeable feelings that 
accompany wrong actions. In other words, pleasures can- 
not have differences of kind. Again, if pleasure denotes 
agreeable feeling wherever it occurs, and without regard 
to distinction between moral and immoral conduct, then 
the quality that determines that distinction is other than 
pleasure. On the other hand, if that quality is pleasure, 
there is no difference in kind, and those are not pleasures 
which accompany wrong actions. We cannot play fast and 



496 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

loose with the term pleasure. We cannot give it a generic 
and a specific use at the same time. We only succeed in 
duping ourselves and others into the bargain. No theory 
can stand upon an equivocation, and this is precisely what 
utilitarianism attempts to do when it talks about the 
"kinds of pleasure." As a loose and popular phrase it 
may be well enough. But it can only serve as an inac- 
curate substitute for a desired term which shall express 
pleasure plus a quality other than pleasure, if pleasure is 
to express the whole class of species included under its 
usual application. The true meaning of the term is 
generic in which it expresses the common qualities of a 
class whose differentiae are other than the genus (con- 
ferentia). This is putting the case technically, but the 
same may be expressed by saying that pleasure expresses 
what is similar in all the cases in which it occurs, while 
the so-called differences in kind express something other 
than the pleasure in order to determine the qualitative 
distinctions of the species. Mr. Martineau expresses this 
conception of the case very clearly and pertinently. His 
language is worth quoting. ' If there are sorts of pleasure,' 
he says, ' they must be something more than pleasure ; 
each must have its differentia added on to what suffices for 
the genus ; and this addition cannot be pleasurable quality, 
else it would not detach anything from the genus ; to mark 
a species at all, it must be an extra-hedonistic quality, and 
each sort must have its own ; and so far as one is preferable, 
as a kind, to another, it is so in virtue of what has other 
than pleasure; and the comparison of them all inter se, 
considered as different kinds, must turn upon their several 
extra-hedonistic qualities. All that they have from the 
genus is quantitative ; and till you get beyond the pleas- 
urable as such, quality does not exist.' " ^ 
Perfection- Thus a new theory must be maintained in place of 
hedonism, a theory that includes all the truth of hedonism, 
1 Hyslop's Elements of Ethics, pp. 376-379. 



ism. 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 497 

but at the same time accounts for the qualitative elements 
that hedonism must neglect. This theory is perfectionism. 
The criterion of the good is excellence of being, and this 
includes excellence oi feeling. 

But what constitutes excellence of being ? We have 
already said that morality has to do with finite relation- 
ships, and this thought must be retained in our answer. 
Excellence of being is a perfect adjustmetit to our office in an 
ideal finite ivorld. Let us explain this answer at length. 

You and I mean by the term perfect as applied to any perfection 

obiect the ability of that obiect to meet satisfactorily all the ™^^°f ^^^ 
■^ _ \ '' , -^ , complete 

demands which it has been made to fulfill or is destined to adjustment 

fulfill. Thus we speak of a perfect clock or again even of a °* thatfdeTl 

perfect day and of perfect weather. In any case we have world of 

in mind its adjustment to the office it is ideally intended -^^g .^.^^ 

to fulfill. Now the perfection to which the moral law bids members. 

us attain is likewise a complete adjustment of ourselves to 

the world of which we are members. This world is, for you 

and me, the great social and material world made up of 

our earth, and especially our own land and of the peoples 

living there, and above all of our own nation, community, 

social circle, and family. It is, in short, our ideal earth and 

man's complete civilization, and of course keeps changing 

as a higher civilization and a better knowledge of things 

comes into being. 

You and I are born into a particular community. We 
are born with special talents and opportunities, and we 
soon come to feel that we are fitted for some special station 
in life. All this means that we form an ideal of ourselves 
as members of our own ideal world. Now the perfection 
that we seek is the complete realization of this ideal self, 
an ideal member of our community, of our nation, or of 
humanity at large. This ideal self will differ of course 
from man to man, in fact, will differ for the same man 
placed in one community, from what it would be were he 
placed in a different community. Thus if some calamity 

2k 



498 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

forced us to live in a semi-barbarous land, our ideal of self 
would at once be changed from what it had been. Perhaps 
among the new people our whole manner of life would 
have to alter, and it might even be that we should have to 
become ourselves less civilized than we were before. 

In short, the ideals of one age or of one people may be 
less and rightly less exalted than those of another. Civ- 
ilization depends upon so many factors quite beyond our 
control, and to these we are obliged to adjust ourselves 
both as a society and as individuals. 
In an ideal But in reply to all this it may be asked : What warrant 
^^^^^ have we that an adjustment to such a world will bring: 

happiness "* o 

must reign; with it happiness? We answer: There is excellent rea- 
son to believe that it will ; for, as Mr. Spencer has urged, 
adjustment to environment means welfare, and welfare 
means usually pleasure. A creature so constructed that 
it suffered pain when adjusting itself to environment, 
would probably become extinct. Hence in general we may 
say that where adjustment is slowly taking place within 
any race, the individual is phj^siologically so fitted to his 
environment that pain is not the rule, but the exception. 
But all this aside. We have said that perfection means 
an adjustment to an ideal world. Now no world can be 
to us ideal wherein pain rules supreme. An ideal world 
must be a happy world, even a relatively ideal world. 
Therefore, if you or I were placed in a world in which 
happiness were next to impossible, where pain and misery 
were necessarily and relatively forever supreme, such a 
world we could not look upon as ideal ; and since we could 
form no ideal of it, there would be but one moral law for 
us, and that would be to labor for the extinction of life in 
such a world. In short, our definition compels us to seek 
for the happiness or the annihilation of our world. 

If the relative pessimists be right,^ if " our world " be 

1 The student is strongly advised to read concerning pessimism the 
chapter, in Paulsen's System of Ethics, entitled " Pessimism." Cf. also 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 499 

one in which pain and sorrow, sin and misery, rule and but this 
will ever rule supreme, or again if advancing civilization for^eiativ^ 
mean only increasing sorrow and pain, then we have but Pessimism. 
one course open to us, — let us labor to bring about an ideal 
world, and that would be the annihilation of life or of 
civilization. But as long as mankind at large seems over- 
whelmingly convinced that civilization makes for happiness, 
that our world civilized would be ideal or more ideal, so 
long the pessimist will have a hard time getting men to 
work for racial extinction. However, as philosophers we 
are interested in principles, and we need not assume the 
responsibility here of disproving pessimism. Our princi- 
ple is broad enough to meet even that view of things. It 
even leaves open the question whether there are not ex- 
treme cases where suicide is justifiable. If there be such 
a case, then it would be an excellent instance of a man 
finding his world one that cannot be made ideal except by 
self-annihilation. Ultimately it is such a principle as that 
which justifies the putting to death of a suffering beast. 

Thus we find that the criterion of goodness is a perfect As civiii- 
adiustment of self to our ideal office in an ideal world. ^^^^°^ 

•> _ _ grows, so 

The circumstances of our life determine what that particu- also does 
lar office shall be; so also do they, how large the ideal ^Yrid*^\nd 
world shall be of which we are members. It may be a Relative 

PcssimisiQ 

very small world, perhaps only a coral island in mid-ocean, gimpiy 
perhaps only a clan, perhaps a city, perhaps our whole forces us to 
earth. Histor}^ shows us how with advancing civilization larger world 
the world in which you and I live keeps getting larger. *^g°,.^atw 
As members of a great and powerful Christian nation, we condemn, 
feel that we owe something to every race and tribe of men, ^g^igg^^ 
that even the lowliest savage deserves something at our Absolute 

, 1 Pessimism. 

hand. 

As long as optimism reigns in our hearts, we shall make 
it our ideal to strive for the idealization of this world. 

his book: Schopenhauer, Hamlet, Mephistopheles : Zur Naturgeschichte 
des Pessimismus. 2te Aufl. Berlin, 1902. 



500 INTRODUCTION TO rillLOSOPHY 

Should the time ever come when we or any peoples are 
so ill adjusted to the world in which we have to live that 
the work of such an idealism becomes impossible, then no 
doubt the doing away with the evil world must become 
our ideal. However, this does not mean that our pessi- 
mism really becomes universal. It means rather that we 
look to a larger world which would be more ideal, were 
our smaller world removed from it. Belief in the ideality 
of the universe as a whole must be assumed even by the 
most extreme pessimist. Otherwise every form of action 
becomes rationally paralyzed. 

Back of all there is an ultimate ideal that we are striv- 
ing to realize ; and though the particular life each man is 
morally called upon to lead is relative to the particular 
environment into w^hich he is born, still his ultimate ideal 
cannot be relative. In short, the moralist is forced sooner 
or later to tell us, what decides whether any given world 
is ideal or not, in the light of what principle does man 
behold the true goal of his life, what ultimately is the 
perfect state. 
The ultimate This is a difficult question to answer. Still some answer 
ideaUpirit-' ^^^^ ^® given. The perfect state is ideal spirituality. But 
uaiity. what is this ? We have already learned something about 

its nature in our study of the theory of knowledge and of 
the nature of religion. Ideal spirituality, or, as we may 
call it, our consciousness developed to its ideal state, 
means that we have become godlike. But what does 
this mean? It means that there is inherent in our 
attempt to interpret the world the ideal self that has the 
ability to interpret perfectly. In short, to be godlike 
means to be the possessor of all truth, to be the possessor 
of all beauty, to be the possessor of all happiness, and 
finally to be able consciously to bring complete harmony 
into our life. Thus to be seekers after truth and to 
realize to the full our ability to gain truth is an ultimate 
end of life. Hence the principle ; truth as such, truth 



THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 601 

in and for itself, is an ultimate end. Again, it is an 
ultimate end of life to perfect ourselves in judging of 
the beautiful and to bring the beautiful into existence. 
Hence the beautiful is an end in and for itself. Again, 
character or the ability to be more and more masters of 
our own life and welfare and happiness is an end. To 
be more and more conscious of fulfilling God's will in our 
lives, to be bringing absolute harmony into them, in short, 
to be religious, all this is likewise an ultimate end. In 
one sentence, the end of life is self-consciousness raised to 
its ideal state as knowledge, as feeling, and as will.^ 

We see in this principle that morality consists in the 
realization of our ideal, and that this ideal must ulti- 
mately be a priori or axiomatic. This does not mean 
that the moral law is made up of axioms. It means 
rather that the principle by means of which the moral 
law is discovered and formulated is an axiom. Only the 
facts and a knowledge of the facts can inform us what 
our particular ideal of the world should be, what our par- 
ticular ideal office in this world is, and how best we can 
fulfil that office. Therefore the discovery and formula- 
tion of the moral code belongs not to theoretical ethics 
or philosophy, but to practical ethics, one of the special 
sciences. 

1 As Mr.Hobhouse tells us, the evolution of life does not mean neces- 
sarily progress, often it means a movement dovynward. It is only of the 
mind that we can truly assert progress. Cf . Mind in Evolution, by L. T. 
Hobhouse. London and Nevr York, 1901. Chapter 1. 



CHAPTER LIII 

MORAL KESPONSIBILITY 1 

Moral re- The problem of moral responsibility has given philoso- 

fs^saidtV ^ pbers much trouble. It has been argued that to be moral, 
imply that is, capable of moral action, man must have freedom 

of choice. o^ choice. Opposed to all other events in the world, 
which proceed in accordance with the strict law of neces- 
sary sequence, our acts of will are free. We may do other 
than we actually do do in any given case ; or better, we 
could have done differently than we did do. It is argued: 
How, unless this be true, can any one be held morally 
accountable for his acts ? He could not have done other 
than he did ; why then is he to blame ? 
But we have To US this whole method of dealing with the problem 
fre'edom'^*' seems a misunderstanding of its true nature. From 
metaphysics we have learned that the law of causation is 
universal. Mind as well as nature is under the dominion 
of the law of necessary sequence ; and this means what it 
says. Theoretically, mental events and acts of the will 
can be predicted with all the surety of merely mechanical 
events. Practically, any such prediction may lie beyond 
our power. To estimate the direction that billiard balls 
will take on a table is indefinitely simpler than to solve 

^ Literature. 

The student is referred to Hyslop, Elements of Ethics, Chapters IV and 
V ; also to Muirhead, Elements of Ethics, Both books will give him 
further references. 

For the general subject of the psychology of voluntary decision, of. 
G. F. Stout, Manual of Psychology. Book IV, Chapter X, " Voluntary 
Decision." 

502 



MORAL RESPOISISIBILITY 503 

the complicated problem of the direction of most acts of 
will. But then the enormous complexity involved in will- 
action is perhaps no greater than that in most mechanical 
action. Think of the mechanical problem involved in the 
life and growth of any animal, a problem perhaps too intri- 
cate for man to hope ever to solve. Yet who doubts that 
the processes of growth proceed in accordance with the law 
of necessary sequence, and that a mind acquainted with the 
data and conditions and laws could predict the result. In 
short, the phenomena of will may be too intricate for us to 
predict with much surety in most cases ; still theoretically 
the whole process is determined, and our choices have to be 
just what they are. 

To give up this position would mean the complete revi- 
sion of metaphysics, and that in a way which would mean, 
if our results are correct, the overthrow of science and the 
establishment of skepticism. Our wills interfere not 
merely in the mental world but also in the physical world ; 
and therefore, the moment we remove them from under the 
law of necessary sequence, we remove also the remainder 
of the world. There would then remain for the law of 
causation only limited fields of nature, that is, those not 
interfered with by man's will, or portions of the world 
during the intervals between such interference. We 
readily grant that in practical life this is very much the 
way in which we do interpret nature. We do look upon 
a human act as a sort of starting-point, and feel that we 
have explained an event when we have brought it back 
to such an act of will. But this is merely a practical 
difficulty. As science progresses we do not stop with 
human acts as final explanations, for human acts are 
being brought under law. Thus we are trying -to win 
for ourselves more and more that knowledge which will 
enable us to predict human conduct as we predict natural 
phenomena. Practical ethics, the science of education, 
politics, economics, and other like sciences must ultimately 



604 



INTRODUCTION TO PinLOSOPHY 



maintain this principle and be more and more fully con- 
scious of maintaining it. 

But we shall be asked : What becomes of morality and 
moral responsibility, if you deny man's freedom of choice ? 
We reply, Mart's freedom of choice has nothing to do with 
morality in its ultimate nature. What do we mean by 
moral responsibility? Do we mean that punishment can 
be justified only in case man is free? It is sufficient 
answer to this to say that the only rational punishment 
is either corrective or preventive punishment, and that 
both assume that we can determine a man's conduct from 
without. Punishment out of revenge is immoral and 
irrational. It is only such punishment that need seek 
for some deeper excuse for its existence. But how can 
there be a morality without freedom? We reply, You 
have a false idea of what constitutes morality. Morality 
is not a law inflicted on man from without. If it were, 
then indeed we should have to put man in a position that 
he could obey it or otherwise hold him irresponsible. But 
the moral law has as its author the very will that obeys 
the law. To be good means for our will to be consistent 
with itself. It itself is the master of the situation, it obeys 
itself. From the very start it is moral ; and if it were not 
moral, all the powers of earth could not make it such. 

It is ultimately the same question that we have in 
knowledge. Man is rational, man's nature is on the 
side of reason, or knowledge ; otherwise we should be 
helpless to make him rational. The laws of rationality 
are not something foreign to the reason, but spring out 
of the reason. When we know, when we grow in 
knowledge, this is but the logical evolution of our own 
reason. It is the reason fulfilling its own laws, real- 
izing its own ideal. So also in morality, our wills 
are but realizing their ideals. Morality is ultimately 
then only the self-realization of an ultimately moral 
will. 



MORAL RESPONSIBILITY 505 

But you ask, How, then, do we ever sin ? We ask in Sin is not 
reply, How do we ever fall into scientific error? The ^u^^^g^eto 
two are much the same problems. Both are ultimately the limi- 
contradictions of our ideal selves. Complete moral self- incr^f^o^m"^' 
realization is as far beyond our finite powers as is complete t^^ finitude 
intellectual self-realization. It is simply a fact that we human will 
are finite in both fields ; and any further explanation ^^^ ^^*®^- 
would have to be a psychological one. We are ignorant 
because we lack data, we lack the ability to attend, to 
discriminate, to synthesize the elements of our experi- 
ence. So, too, in the moral world we lack that complete 
insight into our own conduct and its character. We lack 
the ability to keep all the elements of a moral struggle and 
problem before our consciousness, and so we fail often to 
choose the right. 

Ultimately we have to suppose that if the mind were We have to 
granted sufficient information, it would always be in the ui^matsiy 
right in its knowledge, it would never be guilty of Intel- the win is 

11101*3,1 

lectual error. If we do not grant this, what hope is there 
for rationality at all ? Is not this a presupposition that must 
be granted, unless knowledge is to be put at once among 
the impossibilities ? Ultimately man must be in a position 
to see truth directly, to intuit truth. If not, then you are 
a skeptic, and the whole of our knowledge is reduced to 
chaos, such to remain forever. Ultimately, too, the same 
must be said of the will. If the will be in a position to 
see clearly all the moral elements of the situation, it will 
then choose the right. If you do not grant this, you deny 
the ultimate morality of the will ; and with that denial 
you will lead us into moral skepticism. No outside power 
can force morality upon the will. If it is not ultimately 
the will's nature to be moral, as it is the mind's nature to 
be rational, then good-by to morality forever. If morality 
be not ultimately the self-realization of the will, then 
morality is purely artificial or arbitrary, and away with it 
as so much superstition. 



506 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The other 
view seems 
to be the 
outcome of 
an anach- 
rouous 
theology. 
We must 
presuppose 
an ultimate 
harmony 
between our 
will and 
God. 



But here you will object, " Men are often knowingly 
sinful." True enough; but still the only way you can 
hope to reform the sinner is by giving him more knowledge. 
Your very punishment enables him to realize, to picture 
mentally and more forcibly, the consequence of evil. We 
may often know things without knowing them adequately or 
completely. We may often, as old fogies, see the truth one 
instant, yet by habit long established be utterly unable to 
make it really part of our intellectual make-up. That is, 
psychology explains why we may knowingly do wrong, 
or why we may be conscious that we are not doing right. 
It enables us at the same time to maintain that more train- 
ing intellectually or the ability to associate a large number 
of elements now but feebly associated will alter conduct. 
We must maintain that when a man knowingly does the 
wrong, it is because he lacks a full realization of the 
moral situation. Just the same is true where minds 
knowingly accept for themselves falsehoods and believe in 
them. We can be knowingly afraid of truth and refuse to 
accept it. 

Has this view lost for morality any of its true elements ? 
We fail to see that it has. The older view was necessary 
largely because of anachronous theological beliefs that 
went with it. Morality was something external to man, 
given to him in a more or less arbitrary way by God. 
Man had to justify God's holding him responsible. There- 
fore man had to be declared free. But ultimately could 
we not ask why man should yield to the authority of God ? 
Why not rebel ? If he obeys, he must do so because his 
will regards itself, its true nature, to be in harmony with 
God's will and therefore feels itself ultimately moral. If 
the will did not so feel, then morally it should rebel 
against God and take the consequences. 

But such a view of the world and such a view of the 
relation between God and man is irrational. Man and the 
world in which he lives are not at swords' points. Were 



MORAL RESPONSIBILITY 507 

they so, we should have skepticism. The truth and 
reality must harmonize or there could be no knowledge. 
The moral law and reality must harmonize or there could 
be no morality. Man and God are not foreign natures. 
Man, we may say, in the words of religion, is made in 
God's image. To obey the will of God is man's self- 
realization, just as to win the truth is the self-realization 
of man's reason. We may even say, we know God only 
through knowing our ideal self ; and we know God's will 
only through knowing the ideal of our own wills. If God be 
something wholly foreign to our minds, then indeed God 
is unknowable, and we are forced whether we will or not 
to neglect his existence absolutely, which as we have 
shown is the same as declaring belief in him sheer non- 
sense. He would be a thing-in-itself, a transcendent 
world. 

But finally you object, Is not sin to be punished as Punishment, 
sin ? We reply, By all means. Sin is punished as sin. 
What is sin? It is a failure to realize the ideal self. 
What is the punishment? Why, just the failure itself. 
The punishment of ignorance is ignorance, and the punish- 
ment of sin is sin. Both are forms of self-annihilation. The 
punishment of sin and the reward of virtue are summed 
up in those well-known words of the Apocalypse : " He 
that is unrighteous, let him be unrighteous still ; and he 
that is filthy, let him be filthy still ; and he that is 
righteous, let him be righteous still ; and he that is holy, 
let him be holy still." Such ultimately is life. Our true 
self is to be godlike. Not to realize that true self is to 
contradict our own true nature. 



PAET FIVE 

AESTHETICS 



CHAPTER LIV 

THE NATUEE OF THE BEAUTIFUL ^ 

There are two main questions that sesthetics is called The twofold 

upon to answer. They are these : What is the character ^gJlJeSc? 
of the sesthetic judgment, or the nature of the beautiful? 
Does the aesthetic judgment claim objective validity, or 
universality? The latter problem depends upon the for- 
mer, in fact, exists only because of one of its solutions. 

What do we mean when we call an obiect beautiful? ^- 'What is 

We may mean its ability to cause an agreeable sensation of the 

in us, and in others of like tastes and general culture. In -^eaw^^/"^-^ 

short, all that ive then mean hy the beautiful is the agreeable. («) it is 

We describe simply our mental states as influenced or ^re*eabie^ 
affected by some given object. 

If this be the sesthetic judgment, then gssthetics is sy- Criticism of 

nonymous with part of psychology. It is simply science, Expe^demiT' 

and philosophy has no more to say about it, for there is no shows us 

dirGctlv 

philosophical problem distinctly sesthetic. But this doc- that we do 
trine is false, for we do not mean by the beautiful the not mean by 

1 In this chapter we shall attempt to do no more than to point out 
briefly the main problem of aesthetics as a discipline of philosophy. 

For parallel reading the student is referred especially to Chapter 
XII, in Ladd's Introduction to Philosophy. New York, 1890. 

Chapter XII, in Watson's Outline of Philosophy. 

Lotze's Outlines of Esthetics, translated and edited by G. T. Ladd. 
Boston, 1885. pp. 3-20. Liebmann, Zur Analysis der Wirklichkeit. 
3te Aufl. Strassburg, 1900. Dritter Abschnitt. 

For a longer discussion (including the separate arts) and for a general 
history of sesthetics, cf. The Philosophy of the Beautiful, by William 
Knight. New York, Scribners. Parts I and II. These two books of 
Professor Knight will also introduce the reader to further literature. Cf. 
also AUgemeine Aesthetik, von J. Colin. Leipzig, 1901. 

511 



512 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



the beauti- 
ful merely 
that which 
gives 
sensuous 
gratifica- 
tiou. 



merely agreeable. Do you ask what proof have we ? Ul- 
timately, only the answer that we receive when we ask 
each one what he means by beauty, and also the fact that 
we deal very differently with art from what we do with 
any mere instrument to promote sensuous gratification. 
In the words of Professor Ladd : " Experience enters a 
protest if we try so to interpret the facts as throughout to 
identify the agreeable and the beautiful. Nothing, indeed, 
can be called beautiful which is not, in so far as it is beau- 
tiful, sesthetically agreeable. Moreover, the judgments of 
men differ as to what should be called beautiful, even more 
than they differ concerning the morally good and the sen- 
suously pleasant. But of the beautiful — like the morally 
good and unlike the agreeable — we affirm a universal 
and objective value and validity. The agreeable is a state 
of, or an event in, some sentient mind. Its objective cor- 
relate consists in nothing but a certain peculiar arrange- 
ment and mode of change of material molecules, both 
within and without the nervous organism of the sentient 
being which has the agreeable feeling. This fact is a mat- 
ter of scientific knowledge, rather than of ideal significance. 
" The beautiful is distinguished from the agreeable by 
the possession of two characteristics in which the latter is 
deficient. These are objective validity, and ideal worth. 
By use of these terms we designate, in a preliminary way, 
the most marked differences between the beautiful and the 
agreeable. That differences corresponding in some sort to 
these terms do exist, we may confidently appeal to experi- 
ence to show. We know that, strictly speaking, the agree- 
able exists only as a state in us. We believe that the 
beautiful really exists in nature, in art, in spiritual char- 
acter and life. Scientific knowledge asserts that the ob- 
jective correlate or cause of the agreeable feeling in us is 
not necessarily something agreeable in that which is other 
than ourselves. On the contrary, aesthetic faith affirms 
that the objective correlate of the peculiar pleasurable 



THE NATURE OF THE BEAUTIFUL 513 

feeling with which we greet the apprehension of the beau- 
tiful is itself beautiful. 

" Moreover, the conviction is invincible, that the beauti- 
ful has, in some sort, a right to be ; and also that it ought 
to be appreciated. The proof for such statements as these 
is abundant. The way in which the old-time saying. Be 
gustihus non disputandum, must be understood if the in- 
terpretation is true to the dictates of sesthetical reason, is 
in proof here. When, for example, one contends with 
one's friend that he ought to like olives, or ought not to 
like onions, the seriousness of one's contention is the meas- 
ure of one's departure from a truly rational procedure. 
But it requires a stretch of charity that seems to carry it 
beyond reason for one not to feel that the failure in one's 
friend to recognize and admire the beauties of nature or 
of the choicest art witnesses to a defect in his rational 
constitution. To differ about the merely agreeable can 
end only in stating the fact of difference ; and, perhaps, 
the causes (aesthetically indifferent) in the constitution 
and habits of the organism that explain the fact. But 
dispute about the beauty of this or that object implies an 
appeal to reasons that have an objective and universal ap- 
plication and value." ^ 

Beauty is not the sensuously agreeable. It is more, (fi) Beauty 
Beauty is an ideal, and an object is beautiful in as far as it ^^ ^^^ ^^ ' 
fulfills the conditions of that ideal. 

But what is our ideal? This hard question we can But the 
answer more easily by telling what it is not. It is not the carTbe*^^ 
useful, nor does our satisfaction spring " from interest in expressed 
"the object related to ourselves." It " excludes the idea of vaguest 
definite purpose." "The products of art must appear as terms, 
free from conscious design as if they were products of 
nature. The beautiful cannot be produced according to 
rule ; it must proceed fresh from the hands of genius." 

But can we give no positive answer ? Only in vague 

1 Introduction to Philosophy, p. 327 f. 
2 L 



614 



INTEODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Beauty re- 
veals the 
infinite 
whole, 
the world- 
ideal, in the 
part, or 
finite object. 



An expla- 
nation of the 
vagueness of 
our ideals. 



(a) Vague- 
ness is to be 
expected in 
them. 



and most general terms. There are criteria of the beauti- 
ful such as those just mentioned ; and the assertion of 
beauty, like every judgment, must be consistent with 
itself. But the moment we attempt to find some definite 
picture of what constitutes beauty, we fail. What, for 
instance, is the common or universal element, the beauty 
found in music, painting, architecture, poetry ? At once it 
appears a hopeless task to give any answer. Beauty is an 
ideal that enters into our judgments, but the description of 
that ideal so that we may intuit it in its general or univer- 
sal character is out of the question. We can point to this 
object or to that and say, they are beautiful. We can 
point to another and say, it is not beautiful. But there 
can be no picture of beauty as universal. 

Is it then impossible to give any answer further than to 
assert that the beautiful is an ideal ? No, for we shall con- 
nect this ideal directly with the ultimate principle of 
religion. The beautiful object may be described thus, 
" The divine meaning of the world is revealed through it, 
but it is not completely realized in it." We find in the 
finite object the ideality that we ascribe to the world as a 
whole. Or, as Professor Watson expresses this thought, " It 
is just the infinity of the beautiful object, i.e. its power of 
revealing the whole in the part, that gives rise to the peace 
and harmony of the whole man, and lifts him above the 
allurements of sense and the strenuous effort of the strug- 
gle after goodness."^ 

All this is vague enough, if we try to form any concrete 
picture. Still the same thing may be said about the very 
principle of religion, the ideality of the real. In fact, all 
our ideals are vague ; but that they are so, is not an insu- 
perable difficulty. 

We can look at this vagueness from two points of view. 
First, our ideals themselves are vague. Thus, when we 
say that the real is the ideal, clearly we can form no 
1 Cf. Lotze, Outlines of Esthetics, Chapter I. 



THE NATURE OF THE BEAUTIFUL 515 

picture of the universe and its ideality. We are asserting 
something vastly beyond the power of our intuition. The 
content of our judgment is simply the assertion of an ulti- 
mate harmony between the will in its struggle toward self- 
realization and the world of which it is a member. Again, 
we may illustrate the same thought by showing its bearing 
upon our knowledge. We identify the true and complete 
interpretation of the world with knowledge ; yet our knowl- 
edge as it actually exists is but finite and often seriously 
erroneous. None the less we assert that as we progress 
in knowledge, obeying the formal and material laws of 
thought, we approach the ultimate ideal of knowledge. 
In short, we can neglect the fact that our picture of the 
complete truth is most vague. We feel sure that in spite 
of this vagueness of our ideal, knowledge progresses 
toward it. 

So also in religion. The ideal world in its completeness 
is beyond the power of our intuition ; but as we struggle 
toward self-realization, we are assured that there can be no 
conflict between true self-realization and reality itself. In 
short, our principles have their main value not in what 
they enable us to picture, but in their removing obstacles 
from the way of the will and of the intellect, the one in its 
work of self-realization, the other in its work of forming 
absolutely valid judgments. 

Secondly, we may say that our ideals^ like our knowledge, (/3) Their 
undergo development. The true ideal, like the perfect mentgrad- 
knowledge, represents the consummation of a development, "^^^^ clears 
the goal of evolution. The ideal that we have, like the vagueness. 
knowledge that we have, is indefinitely removed from its 
perfect form ; and, as a consequence, we can picture that 
form only in the faintest, vaguest outline, yet not so faintly 
nor so vaguely that our ideal becomes useless. If this 
were not so we should be forced back at once into skep- 
ticism. Inasmuch as the only truth is the truth that 
holds universally, it follows that if we are to have knowl- 



516 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



II. Are 

sesthetic 
judgments 
objective 
and univer- 
sal? 

Yes, because 
all judg- 
ments are. 



Discrepancy 
and fickle- 
ness in judg- 
ments form 
no argument 
against 
their ob- 
jectivity. 



edge at all, we must interpret the finite in the light of the 
infinite, or of the universe at large ; otherwise our interpre- 
tation would not be valid. Hence we must conclude, that 
as man intuits the facts and interprets them, he is able to 
find the infinite in the finite, that is, to find in the finite 
truths that hold universally, truths that do not conflict 
with the absolutely perfect interpretation. Now just as he 
does this in interpreting reality, so also does he do so in 
interpreting the good and the beautiful. From one point 
of view his work of interpretation may seem hopelessly 
finite, incomplete, and imperfect. It may seem that the 
element of universal truth is all but infinitesimal. Yet 
from the other point of view all we need is the infinitesimal 
to satisfy the demands of our argument. If there is any 
universal truth in science, in morality, in religion, and in 
art, then our point is won. We admit that man's inter- 
pretation may be indefinitely erroneous and imperfect. 
Yet at the same time, there is contained in it some of the 
infinite, and this at once raises it infinitely above absolute 
failure, and explains why our ideals may be so vague, and 
yet be universal and fully adequate to our needs. 

To turn to the second problem of aesthetics. Is the 
sesthetic judgment universal and objective? We reply 
most confidently : It is. Our aesthetic judgments ar euni- 
versal because they are judgments, for a judgment not 
claiming to be universal is no judgment whatever. The 
hard question is not this, but rather : What makes up the 
nature of the beautiful, or of the aesthetic ideal ? Once we 
grant that this is not a judgment merely asserting a 
psychological fact, but is truly an ideal, then the other 
question is at once answered. 

It is no argument against the universality of our 
sesthetic judgments to show how indefinite they are or 
how liable men are to differ in aesthetic taste ; for a 
similar objection might be urged against morality and 
even against science. At the most, you are but appeal- 



THE NATURE OF THE BEAUTIFUL 517 

ing to a psychological truth. Philosophically, your truth 
has nothing whatsoever to do with the case. Infants' 
judgments are universal. Their poverty and discrepancy 
do not militate against the objectivity of knowledge. 
In short, our ability to know develops, and so does our 
ability to judge morally and aesthetically. 



PART SIX 
PHILOSOPHY AS A SCIENCE 



CHAPTER LV 

THE DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY ^ 

We have now finished our study of philosophy proper ; Philosophy 
but before closing let us turn to a brief discussion of it as ^^ ^ science. 
a science among sciences. Such a discussion will treat of 
its definition and scope, of its different divisions, of its 
historical development, of its method, and finally of its 
meaning and value. In short, we shall look backward 
over the field that we have traversed and shall discover 
from a higher and broader point of view its character 
and boundaries. Our first topic will be the definition 
and scope of philosophy. 

Professor James, in discussing how consciousness is i. itsdefini- 
always more interested in one part of its subject than in 
another, and how "it welcomes and rejects, or chooses, 
all the while it thinks," concludes his chapter in the 
following words : — 

" Taking human experience in a general way, the choos- The division 
ings of different men are to a great extent the same. The j^^q ^-^^ ^^ 
race as a whole largelv agrees as to what it shall notice and and the not- 
name ; and among the noticed parts we select in much the 
same way for accentuation and preference, or subordination 
and dislike. There is, however, one entirely extraordinary 

1 On the various meanings of the term "philosophy" in the course 
of history and at the present time, cf . Ueberweg-Heinze, Grundriss der 
Geschichte der Philosophic. 8te Aufl. Berlin, 1894, Teil I, S. 1-5. 

Windelband, History, section I. 

Paulsen, Introduction, pp. 1-50. 

Spencer, First Principles, Part II, Chapter I. 

Sidgwick, Philosophy : Its Scope and Relations. London and New- 
York, 1902. 

521 



522 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

case in which no two men ever are known to choose alike. 
One great splitting of the whole universe into two halves 
is made by each of us ; and for each of us almost all of the 
interest attaches to one of the halves ; but we all draw the 
line of division between them in a different place. When 
I say that we all call the two halves by the same names, and 
that those names are ' me ' and ' not-me^' respectively, it 
will at once be seen what I mean. The altogether unique 
kind of interest which each human mind feels in those 
parts of creation which it can call me or mine may be a 
moral riddle, but it is a fundamental psychological fact. 
No mind can take the same interest in his neighbor's 
me as in his own. The neighbor's me falls together with 
all the rest of things in one foreign mass against which his 
own me stands out in startling relief. Even the trodden 
worm, as Lotze somewhere says, contrasts his own suffer- 
ing self with the whole remaining universe, though he 
have no clear conception either of himself or of what the 
universe may be. He is for me a mere part of the world ; 
for him it is I who am the mere part. Each of us dichoto- 
mizes the Kosmos in a different place." ^ 
But there is Still, mysterious as is this division, which each one of us 

o niors trulv* 

fuuda- makes, of the world into two parts, the me and the not-me^ 

mental \^q^ much more so is that profoundest of all divisions which 

division, . '■ 

into the sets over against the me and the not-me the perceiving mind 
knower and ^^^^^^ objects they both are ! 

the known. J *' 

For this ^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^ thoughts to some part of the lifeless 

division we world and then to man, what greatest of differences do we 

suppose behold ! The waves of the sea ride over its surface from 

^^^^, , continent to continent, they dash upon its shores from 

(a) Through '' ^ 

conscious- Greenland to the far South. In the form of mist their 

worid^s re- P^^ticles of water are drawn upward, and float as clouds 

veaied to over land and sea. As rain, they fall upon mountain and 

' valley, and bring refreshment to every form of life. As 

brooks and rivers, they dash over the hillside, or flow 

1 Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, p. 289. 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 523 

quietly through the plain. But what do the waves and 
the drops of water know of the world that they help to 
make so grand and fair? Over and over again, through 
age after age, the same particle of water makes the round 
from the sea back once more into the sea ; yet for it, ex- 
cept in the imagination of the poet, the world is not. 

But when we turn our thoughts toward the creatures 
that owe their very life to these same particles of water, 
toward man and beast, how great is the change of scene ! 
For them there are earth and sky, sunshine and shadow, 
field and forest, leaf and flower, work and play, joy and 
sorrow. This difference that seems as wide as that be- 
tween everything and nothing, is all to be found in the one 
thing that they alone possess, namely, mind. They have 
minds. For them, therefore, there is a world ; but for the 
sea and the earth and the air there is no world. 

Thus, in order that there may be for us a world, we 
must have a mind, we must be conscious. Accordingly, 
whenever it happens that through some accident or other 
cause we are for a time deprived of consciousness, for 
exam.ple, when we faint, are stunned, or are under the 
influence of an anaesthetic, the world, as far as we are im- 
mediately concerned, ceases to be. We are, as it were, 
dead, and have become like the stones which do not see, 
hear, or feel. 

The same truth is brought home to us when we try to 
picture the mental life of those who are deprived of some 
of their senses. The blind are conscious of the existence 
of the world just as truly as we are ; but they do not per- 
ceive that part of the world which we call light. They 
know from us that there is something in this world that 
they are unable to enjoy, and they find that we are able to 
do things by means of our sight that they without sight are 
not able to do. Moreover, in spite of all that we try to do 
to promote their welfare, we are not able to make good 
their loss ; for we cannot, except in a few cases, restore 



624 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(6) and 
through con- 
sciousness 
the world is 
also inter- 
preted by 
us. 



their sight, and it is only by so doing that the deficiency 
can be made good. In short, the lack of this type of con- 
sciousness must prevent the world of light ever existing 
for them in the sense that it exists for us. 

Thus we see that consciousness is the means hy which the 
world is revealed to us. It draws back the curtain that 
conceals the world from our view ; and whenever it leaves 
us, no matter for how short a time, we lose sight of the 
world. The curtain has fallen to ; and we are left in that 
titter darkness where not even the darkness itself can be 
said to exist, for all has passed for us into an absolute zero. 
Thus we may draw as a first conclusion, Consciousness is 
the Revealer of the World. 

But we shall find that consciousness is even more. Con- 
sciousness is also the Interpreter of the Wo7-ld. But Avhat 
does this mean? How shall we state the difference be- 
tween an interpretation and a revelation of anything ? By 
the latter we are made aware of the existence or presence 
of the given thing, we become conscious that it is ; whereas 
by the former we come to know what sort of thing it is of 
which we have been made aware, that is, we realize what 
the thing is. Thus consciousness, as the revealer of the 
world, tells us that the world is ; whereas consciousness, 
as the interpreter of the world, tells us "what the world is. 

How many times do we behold objects such as stones, 
trees, birds, or beasts with whose names, origin, and char- 
acteristics we are not acquainted ! These objects, as they 
stand before us, surely form part of the world revealed to 
us by our present consciousness. In short, they are re- 
vealed to us, but we are in the moment unable to interpret 
them. However, should a mineralogist, a botanist, or a 
zoologist be with us, he could tell us much about these 
objects. He could interpret them not only by telling their 
names, but also by giving further information, such as 
their origin, their utility, their manner of life, and, in brief, 
their relations to hundreds of other things. Clearly the 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 525 

means by which the scientist would perform this act of 
interpreting is consciousness. Above all, it would be that 
sort of consciousness which we call memory, for what he 
has learned in books, and has seen in past experiments and 
observations, is now brought forward to supply that infor- 
mation which forms the interpretation. 

But consciousness performs far simpler and more frequent 
interpretations than such instances as those to which we 
have just referred. In every perception we have examples. 
As we look about the room, not only do we see the many 
objects therein contained, but we recognize them ; for they 
are not presented to consciousness as mere things, but as 
books, chairs, tables, doors, and windows. They stand out 
from one another. The one is higher than the other. 
This object is prettier than that. The objects seen in the 
mirror are reflections ; and so we might continue indefinitely 
to describe the hundreds of interpretations that a few glances 
about the room would bring forth in us instantaneously. 

Then again, psychology teaches us that we but gradually 
come to know the things which we see, hear, touch, and 
feel. This is most clearly seen in the case of one born 
blind and later in life given his sight by a surgical opera- 
tion. For him a new world comes into existence, or 
rather to him a new world is revealed. But much time 
is required before he is able to interpret this new world 
correctly. He sees objects with which he has long ago 
been well acquainted through touch, but now he does not 
recognize them. Before him stands a familiar chair ; but 
he does not see that it is a chair. It is not until he is 
brought into contact with it that he perceives what thing 
he has been seeing. Now for the first time he interprets 
what he has seen all along. In fact, the whole chapter of 
psychology that explains perception gives illustrations of 
what is meant by consciousness being an interpreter of the 
world, for in all adult perception just as much as in the 
higher processes of thinking we have repeated examples. 



526 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The psy- 
chological 
distinction 
between 
revelation 
and inter- 
pretation. 
All types of 
conscious- 
ness reveal, 
only knowl- 
edge inter- 
prets. 



Man's 
history the 
story of his 
progress in 
interpreting 
the world. 



But we must not forget that wherever consciousness 
interprets, it also reveals. It is the seen chair, or it is 
the object thought about that is recognized. Hence, con- 
sciousness always fulfills the twofold function of revealer 
and interpreter. 

There is, however, a great psychological difference 
between the two activities. All consciousness reveals to 
us some element of the world, no matter whether the state 
be a feeling, an act of knowledge, or a volition ; for in all 
three we are brought into that contact with the world 
within or without us that we have spoken of as a revela- 
tion of the world. But in cognition alone do we interpret 
the world. In fact, to know and to interpret mean the 
same thing. Thus we get our conclusion. The world is 
revealed to us through all forms of consciousness, or they 
constitute our source of information ; but knowledge is 
our sole means of interpreting the world. 

Now the history of human civilization is the story of 
how we have perfected little by little the interpretation of 
this world of which each one of us, as body and as mind, 
forms a part. Likewise, biography tells how the years of 
childhood, youth, and manhood are passed in learning to 
know better and better ^yhat this world is into which each 
one of us is born. We thus speak of the greatness of a 
civilization or of a man in proportion to the completeness 
and the perfection of this interpretation. In science man 
has been working out nature's laws, or uniformities : in 
religion he has been seeking to learn the meaning and 
destiny of the universe and of his own life as part of the 
universe ; in ethics he has been judging of conduct in 
order to find what ultimate ideals of himself he should 
form, and how he may realize those ideals when formed ; 
and in art he has been striving to express in concrete form 
the story of the world he gets through his emotional 
nature. 

One of the chief interpretations that he has made is, as 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 



527 



Professor James told us, the division of the world into two 
parts, — the world without and the world within ; but these 
parts are not interpreted equally well in the first stages 
of knowledge either in the growth of the child or in the 
course of advancing civilization. The first world that we 
come to know well is the world without, the objective 
world; whereas we come but gradually to look within, 
to behold our own selves, and to rise to self-conscious- 
ness. Moreover, even when we do become self-conscious, 
it requires long training and much skill before we are 
accurate observers and skilful interpreters of self. Thus 
concerning consciousness we may note two important 
things. First, as it develops, it comes but gradually to 
know self; and secondly, the beginning and maturity 
of this self-consciousness is comparatively late in the 
development of consciousness as a whole. 

Now these same truths hold of our interpretation of the 
world. Just as consciousness can look inward upon itself, 
can behold and interpret itself, so also can consciousness 
look in upon its work of interpreting the world. As in 
its first stage it was given to beholding and to knowing 
the world without, so necessarily was its interpretation an 
interpretation of the world without. Then later came the 
period when it came to know the world within, and now 
finally comes a third period when it looks not only upon 
the world without and the world within but upon its own 
interpretation of those worlds. It comes to see that it 
has been interpreting all the while, and then it com- 
mences to observe and to interpret even the interpreta- 
tion. This third stage we may speak of as that in which 
our interpretation of the world comes to self-consciousness. 

But come it early or late, interpretation must in time 
arrive at that same question with which each individual 
is sure to be brought face to face, the question, What am 
I? The answer to this question of interpretation is phi- 
losophy. Philosophy is thus our interpretation of the 



Two stages 
in the devel- 
opment of 
interpre- 
tation. 



A third 
stage rep- 
resented by 
philosophy. 



528 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



Tlie Scope of 
Fhilosophy. 



Its field to 
be carefully 
distin- 
guished 
from that 
of the psy- 
chology of 
cognition. 



world coming to self-consciousness, or, in other words, 
our very interpretation itself becoming the object of 
interpretation. Therefore, for the time being, we shall 
define philosophy as the science of all interpretations of 
the world. 

Thus far we have learned that philosophy is the science 
of all interpretations. We must now ask ourselves what 
v/e are to expect from such a science, what will be its scope ? 
Clearly to answer our question we must inquire what are 
the problems presented by the interpretation of the world 
studied as such. 

Before all else we should distinguish between the field 
of psychology and that of philosophy ; for psj^chology, too, 
investigates and interprets knowledge. This it does, indeed, 
but in a quite different sense. Knowledge, just as every 
other object that we study, has characteristics that connect 
it with other things, that, in short, make it of the same 
genus as they. These common properties we speak of 
as conferentise. But it must then have still other char- 
acteristics that distinguish it from all else. These are 
the differentice. Now any science of knowledge in order 
to be such must of necessity interpret knowledge from 
the standpoint of its differentiae ; and if there are to be 
two sciences of knowledge having different fields, then 
clearly they must divide these differentige between them 
and treat the one, the one set, and the other, the other 
set. 

But what are the differentise of knowledge, and how are 
they divided between the two sciences? How shall we 
divide off the field of psychology from that of phi- 
losophy ? 

On the one hand, knowledge is a form of consciousness 
that has a certain genesis, that arises in uniformity with 
certain physiological changes in the nervous system, that 
bears certain relations to other types of conscious states, 
and that is built up through the elaboration of mental 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 529 

elements of a lower form. Thus, in general, knowledge, 
like every other event, has its own peculiar genesis and 
uniformities and in the widest sense relations with other 
phenomena. The science of these is psychology. 

On the other hand, we have found that knowledge has a 
quite different characteristic, one that is nowhere paralleled, 
the characteristic that makes it alone the interpreter of the 
world. The science of knowledge in this sense is philosophy. 

These two classes of differentiae are quite distinct, but 
are none the less often confused. From this confusion 
there has arisen the tendency in some circles to identify 
psychology and philosophy, to do which is to fail to see 
in knowledge what primarily differentiates it from all 
other forms of consciousness, in fact, from all other 
things. Thus by distinguishing it from psychology, we Our final 
may define philosophy nearer. It is the science of ^ffi°i*ion o: 

•^ r tr J philosophy. 

knowledge in so far as knowledge is the interpreter of 
the world. 

Having now determined the definition of philosophy and 
distinguished it from psychology, we must finally ask, What ii. The re- 
is its relation to the other sciences ? But in order to answer pHi^gophy 
this question we shall have to deal briefly with the wider to the other 
problem of the classification of knowledge. 

In the history of primitive knowledge there comes a time Primitive 
when man consciously presents problems to himself, and ^'^^ ® ^®* 
deliberatively tries to answer these problems. Before 
that stage, be it in the life of the nation or of the 
individual, knowledge and the acquirement of knowl- 
edge must be haphazard. Knowledge comes to man 
rather than man goes in search of knowledge. 

But just as the lowest creatures that must be bathed 
in a nourishing fluid and are hardly able to adjust them- 
selves to any changes of environment are especially 
liable to encounter starvation ; so also is that knowledge 
which lacks all conscious guidance prone to narrowness, 
inconsistency, error, and general inadequacy. Concerning 
2m 



530 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



the few matters with which the daily needs require the 
individual to be familiar at the peril of his life, there 
must grow up a comparatively extensive knowledge even 
among barbarians. But a wider knowledge cannot come 
merely by chance, that is, wholly by forces acting from 
without ; it cannot come except it rouse the instinctive 
curiosity of the growing mind to active search. This 
search once begun is the beginning of that greater at- 
tempt of man to interpret the universe, which we call 
science. The former type of knowledge will always con- 
tinue to exist and to awaken the interest and to sucrorest 
new problems : but the higher type of knowledge to 
which it has given birth must soon part company and 
■become a great organized system by itself. 

The simpler and earlier knowledge, which, it must not 
be forgotten, continues to be the " everyday " knowledge 
of mankind, is called the Non-formulated Knowledge ; 
whereas the higher type is called the Formulated Knowledge. 

Thus non-formulated knowledge is the ordinary informa- 
tion gained by each one of us in the walks of daily life. It 
is the but-little-systematized knowledge which makes up 
the greater part of our acquaintance with the things about 
us. It is the knowledge that we pick up largely from 
chance experience and that lacks all definite organiza- 
tion. Non-formulated knowledge is, in short, the knowl- 
edge of everyday life. 

On the other hand, formulated knowledge is the con- 
scious answer to definite questions, which questions are 
in known relation to one another. In answering these 
questions it seeks to arrive at universally valid conclusions, 
and therefore it consciously looks for all the evidence 
bearing on such conclusions. Formulated knowledge we 
ordinarily speak of as science. 

However, the reader should not forget that the formu- 
lation of knowledge has degrees, and that the marked 
difference between the two types of knowledge appears 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 531 

only after a considerable development has taken place; 
such, for example, as has been witnessed in the great civili- 
zations, especially of Greece and the Modern World. The 
two types are but stages in the evolution of knowledge. 
The elements that in the one type come out far more 
clearly, though present in all knowledge, are the syste- 
matic character, the search for universal proof and for 
causal law. Consciously or unconsciously, the formu- 
lated knowledge has as its motto the unity of the 
universe, and this motto guides it in all its work ; for 
various though its tasks may be it believes them to be 
parts of one greater task, — ^the knowledge of the universe 
as a whole and as a unity. 

As knowledge becomes differentiated into formulated Pure and 

and non-formulated knowledg-e, so in turn does formu- ^pp^'^^i 

° ' ^ Science. 

lated knowledge become further differentiated into pure 
and applied science. 

Of course this division of knowledge into the theoretical 
and practical carries us back to the earliest stages ; for, as the 
theory of natural selection would lead us to believe, knowl- 
edge must always have been applied by the individual to meet 
the demands of a complex environment to which reflex action 
and instinct but partially adapted him. Hence, we may 
conclude that just as knowledge of the most primitive kind 
tends ever to become an applied knowledge, so must the 
formulated knowledge also be prone to transform itself into 
an applied formulated knowledge. Still, back of both 
pure and applied knowledge, two distinct impulses of man 
can be clearly felt. We have, on the one hand, his 
ardent curiosity, and on the other, his pressing need to 
apply through his sagacity the knowledge that he has to 
the fulfilling of other desires of his nature. These two 
demands must lead in time to a marked differentiation 
between the two types of knowledge ; and there will there- 
fore arise two great sorts of formulated knowledge, — the 
pure and the applied. 



532 INTRODUCTION TO PHn:iOSOPHY 

Applied As we have seen, the difference between the two is con- 

Science, tained in the distinction between the theoretical and the 
practicaL Man finds that his theoretical science discloses 
to him natural processes and their laws. In the knowledge 
of these processes and laws, he discovers or seeks to dis- 
cover a power that will enable him to adapt nature's forces 
to the fulfilling of man's needs. Thus the laws that botany 
and organic chemistry reveal are studied b}'- the agricul- 
turalist with the purpose of making them means to increase 
the productivity of the soil and to perfect the varieties of 
plants. In certain branches of medicine the knowledge 
gained by theoretical anatomy, physiology, physiological 
chemistry, and other sciences, is taken up and so adapted 
that it may form an art of healing by means of drugs or 
through the surgical operation. In the same way the 
engineer adapts the knowledge of chemistry, physics, and 
other theoretical sciences to gain rules to be used in con- 
struction, mining, and other similar pursuits. The aim is 
wholly practical. 

Pure In pure science the aim is quite different. This depart- 

Science. '- . iir i- 

ment oi knowledge arises solely from one desire on the part 

of man, — the longing to know the universe. Such knowl- 
edge is not to serve as a means to accomplish some external 
end, but is an end in itself. 

Instead of the terms "pure" and "applied" science we 
may use the words "science," and "art" or "technology." 
Accordingly, we thus far find two uses of the word 
" science " ; the former denotes formulated knowledge, the 
latter denotes pure or theoretical formulated knowledge. 
Science and But, as we have already seen, science, even in this 
Philosophy, ^a^ypower sense, is divided. Our desire to know the world 
leads to that interpretation which we call theoretical science. 
Yet over and above this there comes for science a new and 
further problem, namely, the interpretation of our interpre- 
tation, or the field of philosophy. Thus we shall divide 
pure science into two great fields; the one is given to the 



DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY 533 

interpretation of the different parts of the world within and 
witliout us ; the second is limited to the investigation of the 
problems presented us by this interpretation as such. So our 
new division gives us, first, the scientific interpretation of 
the world, and, secondly, the science of all interpretation, 
in short, science and philosophy. 

At this point we should notice that we have used the Three mean 
word "science" in three senses : first, or in its broadest mean- {.gf^*'* *^® 
ing, formulated knowledge ; secondly, or in its narrower Science, 
meaning, pure science as opposed to art; and finally, its 
narrowest meaning, science as opposed to philosophy. In 
our discussion we shall do well to use the term always in 
this last sense, that is, as distinguished from philosophy. 

We have now the following classification of knowl- 
edge : — 

r Science (or the Special 
Pure Science. J Sciences). 

t Piiilosophy. 



Formulated 
Knowledge. 



Knowledge. < 



Art (or Applied Science). 



Non-formulated 
l^ Knowledge. 



CHAPTER LVI 



THE DIVISION OF PHILOSOPHY ^ 



What are 
the Disci- 
plines of 
Philosophy ? 



The general 

and special, 

or 

formal and 

material 

disciplines. 



From the previous chapter we have learned that 
philosophy is the science of knowledge as the interpreter 
of the world. We have now to inquire : What will be the 
special problems into which we can divide the general 
problem of interpretation ? The divisions of philosophy 
given to the study of these special problems are called the 
Disciplines of Philosophy. Our new question thus becomes, 
What are the disciplines of philosophy ? 

To answer this question we must first search for a 
principle of division. In our study of philosophical 
problems we found some of far more general import than 
others. Thus the theory of knowledge dealt with more 
general problems than did metaphysics. The former 
tried to show us the nature of knowledge irrespective of 
the object ; for it studied judgment, no matter whether 
the judgment were one of science or of morality. It 
studied judgment in its most general aspects. Thus we 
may define the theory of knowledge as that philosophical 
discipline that studies knowledge as such, knowledge 
irrespective of its content, or again, as some would word it, 
the formal nature of knowledge. We should then doubt- 
less choose as our principle of division the generalitj^ of the 
knowledge under study ; and seemingly this will divide 
off from the other disciplines the theory of knowledge, the 
most general discipline of philosophy. 

This division adopted, the remaining disciplines of 

1 Cf. Kiilpe, Introduction to Philosophy, translated by Pillsbury and 
Titchener. London and New York, 1897. Section 3. 

534 



THE DIVISION OF PHILOSOPHY 535 

philosopli}'- will deal with the material nature of knowledge 
as the interpreter of the world. They will take into con- 
sideration the various problems that knowledge solves, 
and study, not its most general aspects, but the additional 
elements present the moment some special problem is 
before it for solution. Thus we divide philosophy into 
its formal and material disciplines. 

But at this point one objection may be raised against The general 
our division. Is not the philosophy of religion rather thrTheory^ 
than the theory of knowledge the formal discipline ? Is of Knowi- 
not religion the fundamental element of all interpretation, tj^e phiioso- 
for the deepest of all principles is that of the will, since piiy of Ra- 
the will is the basis even of knowledge? We grant the 
premise and admit that the most general philosophical 
discipline must take account of this truth. But the 
objector has forgotten that an act of the will is one thing 
and that a judgment is a very different thing. In philoso- 
phy we are studying judgment or knowledge, and therefore 
we study the activity of the will only as something that 
can be transformed into a judgment. That is, we put 
the decisions of our will into the form of judgments, and as 
such we study them : hence the study of judgment as such 
precedes the study even of this special type. It is true 
that from one point of view all judgments involve an act 
of will or presuppose an ideal. This truth, however, 
belongs ultimately to the theory of knowledge to show, 
for it belongs to the study of judgment as such. Religion, 
however, is not as broad as all knowledge. All knowledge 
may involve a religious element, namely, the presupposition 
of the ideality of the real ; still, the formulation of our 
ideals of the world, the working out of a religious faith, is ' 

not involved in all knowledge. It is, on the contrary, one 
department of knowledge beside others. It takes into 
consideration the peculiarities of its field ; and the philoso- 
phy of religion is thus a material and not a formal dis- 
cipline of philosophy. 



536 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The divi- 
sion of the 
material 
disciplines, 
and their 
definitions. 



Logic. 



But how shall we divide the material disciplines ? The 
question asks us : What are the ultimate ways in which 
the existent, or the Given, can be interpreted? There is 
no a jyriori method by which this can be answered. We 
have simply to ask : In how many ultimate ways does man 
actually interpret the facts ? The answer so far offered is : 
In four, in Science, Religion, Morality, and Art. Each one 
of these types of interpretation is different from the others ; 
and no one of them, as we have attempted to show, can be 
reduced to the other. Hence we shall have four special 
disciplines of philosophy : the Philosophy of Science, of 
Religion, of Morality, and of Art. These are called 
respectively, Metaphysics, the Philosophy of Religion, 
Theoretical Ethics, and Esthetics. 

Metaphysics is the science of reality as interpreted hy 
science^ or again, is the science of the principles of science. 
We mean by principles those fundamental truths about 
the world necessarily presupposed in interpreting it, or the 
axioms of our interpretation. As we have seen, to work 
out the character of an interpretation is but to show these 
principles as used by such an interpretation. 

Tlie philosophy of religion is the science of the principles 
of religion, or of the tvorld as interpreted by religion. 

Theoretical ethics is the science of the principles of moral- 
ity, or of reality as interpreted hy the moral consciousness. 

Esthetics is the science of the principles of art, or of 
reality as interpreted by the cesthetic consciousness. 

In this chapter we are, of course, using the term "reality " 
in the sense of the existent, the Given, the factual, or the 
object of knowledge. 

But all this time nothing has been said about Logic. 
Is it too not a discipline of philosophy? We reply: 
Logic is a practical application of the theory of knowl- 
edge and of metaphysics. In short, logic is a method- 
ology or applied philosophy. We thus get the following 
scheme : — 



THE DIVISION OF PHILOSOPHY 



537 



Science. 



Philosophy 
(in narrow 
sense), or 

Science of 
Knowl- 
edge. 



Theoretical 
Philosophy. 



Applied Phi- 
losophy, or 
Logic. 



r Formal Philosophy, or 
Theory of Knowledge. 



Material 
Philosophy. 



Metaphysics. 
Philosophy of 

Religion. 
Theoretical 

Ethics. 
[ Esthetics. 



Science (in [Philosophy, or The Complete Unification of 
narrow ' Knowledge.^ 
sense). 



I The Special Sciences 
1 Cf. Chapter I. 



[ The Pure Sciences. 
1 The Applied Sciences. 



CHAPTER LVII 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY ^ 



The general 
law that 
differenti- 
ation 
accompa- 
nies evolu- 
tion, holds 
also of 
philosophy. 



The familiar law of animal development tells us that as 
the individual or race evolves there is a differentiation of 
organs and an accompanying division of labor. In the 
lowest forms of life there is no differentiation of the diges- 
tive tract from the skin or general organ for receiving im- 
pressions from without the body. There is no organ for 
distributing nutrition as the arterial system of the verte- 
brate. There are no definite organs of sensation. The 

1 Literature. 

The best general account of the development of philosophy from the 
point of view of its problems is that given by Wiudelband in his History 
of Philosophy, to which we have so often referred the reader. But before 
reading Wiudelband the student would do well to have read the other type 
of history, namely, that which treats of the successive thinkers and their 
systems. A better book for this purpose could hardly be found at pres- 
ent than Weber's History of Philosophy, to which also we have often 
referred. Cf. also A. K. Rogers, A Student's History of Philosophy. 
New York, 1901. For a shorter introduction to the historical develop- 
ment of philosophy the student is referred especially to Wundt's Einlei- 
tung in die Philosophie. 

If the student desire a larger work on the history of modern philosophy 
than these, he is especially recommended (in spite of what seem to many 
its faults) to Kuuo Fischer's Geschichte der neueren Philosophie, in nine 
vols. Jubilaumsausg. Heidelberg, 1897-1902 ; or, to mention a shorter 
work, Windelbaud, Geschichte der neueren Philosophie, 2 vols. 2ded. 
1899 ; or again, Hoffding's History of Modern Philosophy. (The last 
especially for the latter half of the nineteenth century.) 

For the history of ancient philosophy, cf. A. W. Benn, The Philosophy 
of Greece. London, 1898. E. Zeller, Grundriss d. Gesch. d. griech. 
Philosophie. 6te Aufl. 1902. [Translated (older edition) into English by 
Alleyne and Abbott. New York, Henry Holt and Co.] 

For references to the history of special disciplines and problems, cf. 
the footnotes given with the chapters that treat of them. 

538 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 539 

whole body seems able to perform the chief functions of 
life; whereas in the highly developed organism such is 
not the case. Here there is the digestive tract, the organ 
for distributing nutrition, the organs of excretion, the 
various organs of sense, and the central nervous system 
with its differentiations of function. 

Now, what is true in animal life is true, in a general 
way at least, the world over. Society develops, and, as it 
does so, differentiation of parts takes place. So, like- 
wise, science. From a confused mass of thoughts it be- 
comes a systematized or formulated knowledge. From a 
confused mixture of problems there arises a gradual differ- 
entiation of the problems, and with them a separation of 
the special sciences, each v/ith its own field and problems. 
Lastly, what is true in science is true also in pliiiosophy. 

If we go back to the beginnings of knowledge, in the 
primitive days of civilization, we fail to find a formulated 
knowledge existing beside the non-formulated. But in 
time this separation does take place. It took place preem- 
inently in Greek civilization, and from this beginning all 
further divisions of science have arisen. That is, to trace 
the historical development of philosophy we are forced to 
go back to the days of the sixth century before Christ, in 
Greece, and watch hov;^ there gradually arose a formulated 
knowledge, and how the different problems were, little by 
little, separated and carefully distinguished the one from 
the other. If we take the whole course of philosophy's 
development from those early days to our own, we shall 
find that the distinctions or differentiations pointed out in 
showing the relation of philosophy to the other sciences, 
represent in a general way this development. Thus, the 
knowledge of the infant and of the primitive man is an 
entirely non-formulated one, or one little unified and sys- 
tematized. As knowledge progresses, a differentiation 
gradually takes place. Part of it becomes more and more 
unified, becomes formulated. Here we have the stage of 



540 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



This 

differenti- 
ation lias 
caused the 
term 

philosophy 
to undergo 
changes iu 
meanino;. 



Also the 
more special 
law of 
mental 
evolution 
has played 
its part. 
This law is 
twofold . 



development represented by early pre-Socratic science. 
This was called philosophy. 

Now, philosophy being a very ancient word and having 
been applied to knowledge when knowledge was compara- 
tively little differentiated, it has been constantly under- 
going changes of meaning, as knowledge has become more 
and more differentiated. As a consequence, the use of 
the word in the history of science has been most various. 
As we have just seen, if we go back to the early Greeks, 
philosophy means formulated knowledge. 

The next differentiation of knowledge was into theo- 
retical and applied formulated knowledge ; and here, too, 
the term "philosophy" changed its meaning. It now be- 
came the name given to theoretical science, or science in 
the broader sense. This meaning was retained by philos- 
ophy till our own times and is common even to-day. 

Yet the field of knowledge has undergone further differ- 
entiation, and in turn knowledge has done so too, to accord 
with its field. This last differentiation belongs preemi- 
nently to the past two centuries. Men have come to dis- 
tinguish between a posteriori and a priori knowledge, be- 
tween the knowledge of the empirical laws of nature and 
that of the principles of knowledge. In this progress the 
two greatest names are those of David Hume and Imman- 
uel Kant. Here, likewise, philosophy changed its meaning 
to accord with the new definition, and its field becomes 
finally that of the principles of knowledge. Thus we find 
in the course of history the word " philosophy " in a broad- 
est, a broader, and a narrow sense ; and even to-day its 
use is far from settled. 

Further, during the time when science was thus gradu- 
ally differentiating into philosophy in the modern sense 
and into the special sciences, the philosophical problems 
that we have been studying were likewise gradually 
separating the one from the other and becoming the con- 
scious possession of Europe's thinkers. Thus it came about 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 541 

that some of these problems, or classes of problems, are far 
more ancient than are others. 

But besides the more general law of evolution, which has 
determined the course of philosophy's development, there has 
been also a second law at work, a law likewise of mental evo- 
lution. Thus, the term "mental evolution" has two mean- 
ings. There is the natural development of the mind in 
accordance with instincts implanted in the creature and 
arising spontaneously into full activity. That is, there are 
the laws of mental growth. Then there is a second set of 
laws that are determined solely by the mental content. 
These laws are purely logical. 

To apply this to our special problem and to take up first («) The 
the law of mental growth : according to psychology, the mental 
mind is endowed with instincts, and these instincts ff^owth. 
determine ultimately what will attract the creature's atten- 
tion, will interest it, what things will be likely to be 
discriminated and to lead to reaction. Thus there are 
hundreds of things interesting to us that would not be 
noticed by a kitten, but let a rolling ball come within 
the field of its vision, off it springs to play. Again, how 
different our interests are to-day from what they were in 
early childhood ! But why were childhood's interests what 
they were? Clearly, inherited tendencies must explain them. 
Or to put all in one brief statement, some things in this 
world are far more easily noticed, studied, and known than 
are others ; and in the history of science, as elsewhere, we 
.find that this law has played its part. 

What things are most easily noticed by the child ? The objec- 
Clearly the things without the mind, the material and ^^Jf^j.^ ^^^ 
moving things ; whereas the mind, or rather its states, are subjective, 
not, as such, the objects of the child's thought or observa- 
tion. These latter are known last, and, in fact, most men 
never know them accurately. Now, this same truth is illus- 
trated in history ; that is, the material world was first the 
object of study, and physical science preceded mental science. 



542 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The concrete 
before the 
abstract. 



(6) The law 
of logical 
progress. 
Conflicting 
theories 
lead to the 
discovery of 
more 

general and 
funda- 
mental laws 
that bring 
about their 
reconcili- 
ation. 



Then, again, the concrete, or the truth nearest to mere 
perception, is, other things being equal, the first to be dis- 
covered ; whereas the abstract, or the truth involvincr 
much analysis and difficult to represent in the concrete, is 
known later. Thus it is that science and philosophy have 
become more and more abstract as they have developed. 

Consider next the logical law. When men first give 
explanations, these are of individual problems whose con- 
nection with one another is wholly unknown, or at least 
but little thought of. Later, the relationship between the 
problems and between their solutions becomes known ; and 
then men gradually realize that the various answers conflict. 
These contradictions call at once for logical treatment, as 
the contradiction must be removed. Generally this means 
the denial of one answer and the affirmation of the other ; 
but the probability is that when the so-called wrong answer 
was given it was not wholly unjustified. In short, the 
first way of settling a contradiction is apt to be unjust, 
giving one side too much approval and the other too little. 
Hence there follows a new logical movement. Both con- 
flicting answers call for further analysis, for, perhaps, both 
are in part right and in part wrong. Yet such further 
analysis reveals more than this. The fact that the answers 
contradict proves a fundamental connection, for they 
could not contradict unless both were in part solutions of 
the same ultimate problem. That is, though they are 
answers to different questions, they both involve, or pre- 
suppose, a solution of a more truly fundamental or universal 
problem, a problem involved in both. Contradiction then 
forces man's mind logically to the solution of the more 
fundamental or universal problems involved in the many 
special problems. But just such universal problems ap- 
proach nearest to philosophy or are philosophical. Their 
solution systematizes knowledge and reveals ultimately 
the necessary presuppositions, or premises, of knowledge. 
Hence, contradiction leads to the discovery of two kinds of 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 543 

philosophical truth : first, to the highest generalizations of 
science ; and, secondly, to the discovery of the principles 
of knowledge. 

We have now before us the laws that have governed the Summary 
historical development of philosophy. As time has gone ^^^t^^fo^e- 
on, as civilization has advanced, the problems of science 
have become more and more differentiated. A general 
and more or less confused formulated knowledge has 
become divided into theoretical and practical science. 
The theoretical science has become divided into phi- 
losophy and the special sciences. Philosophy has become 
divided, first, into the science of knowledge, or the prin- 
ciples of interpretation, and, secondly, into the systemati- 
zation, or unification, of the knowledge furnished by the 
special sciences. Further, within philosophy in the narrow 
sense, there has been likewise a greater differentiation of 
problems. Single problems of two hundred years ago 
have to-day become several problems : and, similarly, as 
we go farther and farther back, the many problems of 
one age are found united in a more confused problem of 
an earlier age. Again, the objective has come to be known 
before the subjective, the world without before the world 
within, the philosophy of nature before that of mind. 
Finally, the more concrete problem has arisen before the 
more abstract, metaphysics before the theory of knowl- 
edge. 

Still these statements must not mislead us. Though it 
is true that in evolution one part comes before another, 
low differentiation before high differentiation ; yet, in 
another sense, it is true that all are present from the 
beginning. The simplest forms of life have to assimilate 
food, have to excrete waste products, have to do, though 
in a cruder way, the functionings of the highly developed 
organism. So, also, in the history of science, and especially 
of philosophy, the new is continuous with the old, for amid 
all the changes and increased complexity of the later age. 



544 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



A more 
concrete 
statementof 
the develop- 
ment of 
philosophy. 



First came 
Meta- 
physics, and 
in it first the 
search for 
the uni- 
versal and 
permanent. 



Next came 
the problem 
of change 
and its 
solution in 
the Atomic 
Theory. 



it may be still identified, with its beginnings in ancient 
times. ^ 

But to pass from generalities to the more concrete prob- 
lem before us, what has been the historical development of 
philosophy ? Let us examine briefly the course that it has 
taken. 

The earliest problems were metaphysical, and of these first 
came that problem which we had before us in beginning our 
study, — the search for some universal type of being whence 
all forms spring and to which all return. Thales tells us that 
water is this general type, Anaximander says "the infinite 
atmosphere," and Anaximenes, "the generative principle 
of things, air, or breath." All objects are not different 
but may be viewed as different manifestations of one 
type. There is thus begun the search for the universal 
and permanent characteristics of the material world back 
of and included in the infinite manifold of the concrete. 
To know the world becomes now no longer knowing 
individuals but knowing the universal characteristics and 
laws to be found in the individual things. 

But the moment we seek for the permanent and uni- 
versal in things we are called upon to explain how, in 
the light of this permanent, things have come to be what 
they are. We have the problem of world-genesis. 

At first the world-process, the genesis of things, was 
readily assumed as a matter of course ; but man very soon 
discovered in it the presence of a universal problem. 
Things generate, become, change ; but what is " becom- 
ing," and how is it possible? The solution of this prob- 
lem includes many of the most brilliant theories of Greek 
thought, among which the atomic theory is the most 
famous. According to this theory all forms and changes 
of the individual objects, all quality, can be reduced to 
purely quantitative changes, to differences in the shape 

1 The student is especially urged to read the first chapter in Caird's 
Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. I, " The Idea of Criticism." 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 645 

and grouping of permanent entities, or atoms. Thus 
arose the distinction between the primary and the second- 
ary qualities, and the doctrine that the secondary quali- 
ties have no existence outside of the perceiving mind. 
The truly real, or objectively existent, is matter with its 
primary, or quantitative, characteristics. 

But all this time another problem had been working its The arising 
way more and more to the front, — the problem of the il^^^ ^° " 
character and the validity of knowledge. The real world. Knowledge, 
according to the Eleatics, Heraclitus, and the Atomists, . 
is a very different world from what you and I perceive. 
Parmenides taught that the world of perception is delusion. 
The real world is changeless. The atomists maintained 
that the secondary qualities are unreal. The real world 
is one of quantity. If either be right, true knowledge can- 
not be given us through the senses but only through the 
reason. The world of the senses is then a world of appear- 
ance, a phenomenal world ; and the world of reason is the 
world of reality, the noumenal world. 

Here we have the beginnings of the theory of knowl- 
edge and of many important problems within it : such as 
the beginning of rationalism and of realism, the belief in a 
world transcending the empirical world. 

The first solutions of these problems were very crude 
and soon brought upon themselves the natural consequence, 
skepticism ; but later they led to the reconstruction of 
science on deeper and more lasting principles. 

The representatives of skepticism were the Sophists. If 
knowledge is to be, knowledge must be objective and 
universal ; but knowledge is neither. The only knowledge 
is that of the individual man at the instant when he makes 
his judgment. Tlie only knowledge is the opinion of the 
moment and in the moment. 

Logical and progressive as such a skepticism was in out- 
growing the crude rationalism and dogmatism of the day, 
it could not be lasting because it meant the suicide of all 
2n 



646 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



The golden 
age of 
Greek 
Philosophy. 



3foder?i 
Philosophy. 



At first it is 
a Natural 
Philosophy. 



Later 
comes the 
Theory of 
Knowledge, 
and the 
develop- 
ment of its 
problems. 



the elements of man's life. It was the self-confessed 
impossibility of knowledge. It was the destruction of the 
moral conscience and of the order and rights of society. 
Hence a new period had soon to follow and to reconstruct 
on deeper principles. 

This new period marked the highest point of Greek 
thought. It was the period of Socrates, of Plato, and of 
Aristotle. Ethics became clearly differentiated from the 
remainder of science, and science itself reached its highest 
development. 

To pass over the intervening centuries to the da3's of 
the Renascence and thus to the birth of recent science, 
modern thought, as ancient thought, begins in physical 
and cosmological speculation and discovery. It is the 
time of Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, Bruno, Descartes, 
Huyghens. It is a time, above all, of natural philosophy 
and of ontology and cosmology. As far as there is a 
philosophy of mind, true to the spirit of the day, it is 
materialistic. 

Ethics is reborn ; but, though the method of gaining 
new truth is uppermost in mind, the theory of knowledge as 
such remains undeveloped till Locke. With Locke, Berkeley, 
and Hume the more general problems of knowledge be- 
come the centres of interest ; and, finally, with Kant modern 
philosophy takes on its present form. Philosophy becomes 
differentiated from the special sciences ; it becomes the 
study of knowledge as the interpreter of reality. Further, 
Kant realized, as Hume did not, the necessity of its having 
in part an a priori character. With him, too, the various 
disciplines of philosophy become more highly differentiated 
from each other. 

Yet one great change was to take place after Kant — that 
is, the belief in the existence of a transcendent world was to 
be discarded. Realism was to pass entirely into idealism ; 
and philosophy was to be brought into closer touch with the 
world of experience. Before that day the belief in a tran- 



THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 547 

scendent world was a doctrine ever tending to draw the phi- 
losopher away from the world of facts. This need of bring- 
ing philosophy closer to life and to experience was clearly 
felt in the positivistic movement of our century. Crude 
and one-sided as was that movement it had this important 
element, it kept close to experience, and it gave to empiri- 
cal science her rights. 

Another great doctrine, old though it is in its origin. Evolution, 
belongs in its development especially to our past century, 
the doctrine of evolution. Hegel looking at it as a logical 
development, Darwin as a process to be empirically studied, 
and Spencer as one to be deduced from mechanical prin- 
ciples, all give elements that must enter into its final 
form. 

Then, too, this century saw other great differentiations. Science and 
Science and religion have been differentiated more and Religion, 
more, so that books which fifty years ago would have 
included semi-religious interpretations of nature, of life, 
and of mind, are now kept true to the canons of science 
and free from such foreign problems. 

Evolution, too, has made tremendous changes in our Ethics, 
moral views. Theoretical ethics to-day is limited to a 
few purely philosophical problems ; and these answered, 
the remaining problems of morality are handed over to 
inductive science. 

Finally, one great advance in thought, taking decades to Psychology 
become understood, teaches that genesis and validity are pi,iioso h 
two quite distinct problems. This doctrine, more than 
anything else, will keep philosophy's problems carefully 
differentiated from those of the special sciences ; and, 
above all, it will lead to the final separation of episte- 
mology and metaphysics from psychology. The older 
problems of innate ideas and intuitionalism in science, 
religion, and morality are now anachronisms, as are also 
all other tendencies to substitute the problem of psycho- 
logical genesis for that of philosophical validity. 



CHAPTER LVIII 



THE METHOD OF PHILOSOPHY 



It does not fall within the scope of this book to discuss 
methodology at any length. However, we do wish to call 
Philosophy attention to its existence and to give its main problem, 
withlbdng ^^ ^^^^ oftcn been charged against philosophj^ that she 

merely re- seeks to weave out of our consciousness her contribution 
its problem ^^ trutli and uot to scarch for that truth in accordance 
and work with the laborious but fruitful methods of natural science, 
be so. Before discussing such a charge, let us at once agree 

upon one important premise. We have passed beyond 
the day when pain is thought to be something desirable 
and good in and for itself. We still believe in pain, but 
in pain only as a means to an end. This being granted, 
why should we complain against any science that it does 
not deliberately make things hard for itself and go to 
unnecessary and useless trouble? Of course, philosophy 
pursues its work in a different way from natural science. 
But what of it? Are those ways part of a ritual of 
value in and for themselves? Our problems do not 
admit of solution either by founding and running labora- 
tories or by journeys into the wilderness or deep-sea 
dredging. Philosophy, as we have shown, gets its results 
by logical analysis. Analysis of what? Why, for one 
thing, analysis of the results and doctrines of natural 
science. The natural scientist does in part the labora- 
tory work for us. We work over his results. We find 
out by analysis what his premises and principles are and 
see whether or not they contradict. If they do, we tell 

548 



THE METHOD OF PHILOSOPHY 549 

him so. Then we hear in reply: "O you philosophers, 
how can j^ou know a priori what is true and what is not? 
Why do you not go to the facts ? " Well, what is one to 
say? We do not claim to know anything here except 
what the scientist himself has taught us, for here we are 
his pupils. All we have done is to ask him to be consistent 
and to tell him when he is not. You ask : " Consistent 
with whom?" "Consistent with us?" No, indeed, con- 
sistent with himself. If he refuses to be so, why, of 
course, we refuse to accept his doctrine or else try our- 
selves to make it consistent. 

In short, all the work of philosophy is reflective. It is 
an analysis of the results of human searching after truth 
and, in general, of all human activity. It searches for 
inconsistencies and tries to remove them. It finds fault, 
not for the sake of finding fault, but in order to regain 
consistency. Naturally, then, the philosopher's work is 
chiefly in his library. It is there through the reports 
made to him by the scientists and observers themselves 
in their books and treatises that he gets the information 
on which he bases his conclusions. Ultimately, then, he 
is just as much an empiricist at heart as is the most enthur 
siastic naturalist. He is forced to get his facts from so 
very many branches of human activity that he could not 
possibly be a direct observer in more than an infinitesi- 
mal part of the field covered by his conclusions. Of 
course, being a man and leading a man's life, he is brought 
face to face with facts, and doubtless here and there 
makes his conclusions directly on the basis of the facts. 
But for his main work this is a physical impossibility. 
The philosopher must then depend upon the results of 
others to furnish him the material upon which he works. 

His work is a logical analysis, and a logical analysis The 
must needs be done by reflection. His methods and use^o/the^ 
principles, too, must needs be obtained by reflection. But a^ prion 

\ . -. TT • • method is 

this latter is true of all science. However, it is true as bad 



650 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

philosophy especially of the philosopher's work just because he deals 
as It IS bad ^^^^^ high generalizations and abstractions. His methods 
and i^riwciples are less a 2)osteriori^ and, therefore, are 
farther removed from the concrete facts. Still, all this 
does not make his work essentially different from that 
of science, for, ultimately, back of all truth lie the three 
principles of knowledge or of consistency. 

If the philosopher does his work properly, if he is truly 
consistent, science has nothing to fear from him; for 
science, too, is a seeker after truth, and truth must be con- 
sistent with itself. Of course, philosophy, like all other 
human pursuits, depends upon the ability of those who 
work in it; and the more a priori one's work, the more 
liability there is of getting the a priori habit and extending 
this way of solving questions into fields where such a 
method has no business to exist. Here the scientist can 
rightly complain. But the injury is as much against 
philosophy as it is against science. That is, the true philos- 
opher must complain against the wrong use of an a priori 
method, as much as the scientist ; and what is more, if the 
scientist read carefully the history of philosophy, he will 
find plenty of evidence to show that most of the complain- 
ing has, in fact, been done by philosophers, especially by 
the philosophers of England. 



CHAPTER LIX 

THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 

Having now become familiar with the problems that The Mean- 
philosophy tries to solve, we must ask the question : What %li^'lf 
is the meaning and the value of such a science? Why Philosophy. 
should we, as rational beings, try to discover what consti- 
tutes the nature and the presuppositions of our knowledge 
of the world and of our own lives as part of the world. 

Above all, we should feel called to do so because the valid- i. The value 
ity 07' possibility of our knowledge, as such, has been called «* p^^^^s- 
in question. It has been questioned by great schools of doing away 
thinkers in the past and is liable to be doubted again by problem 
men in the future, for each one of us in the course of his presented 
mental growth goes normally through a period of precisely sLptidsm. 
such doubt. In the development of a great civilization, 
and also in the growth of an active mind, there come nat- 
urally the dark days of skepticism ; and this skepticism is 
too earnest and too serious, and often too well justified, to 
be treated with anything but respect and equal seriousness. 

If we study the history of civilization and the mental The three 
development of the individual man, we can mark out three ?TYr\°*i 
chief periods in the course of growth. There is first a growth ; 
period when tradition is accepted with all the confidence, skepticism^' 
but at the same time with all the lack of caution, proverb- Criticism, 
ially true of childhood and early youth. This is the dog- 
matic period. It naturally ends in errors and opposing 
theories, and thus throws doubt on the mind's ability even 
to the extent of denying the possibility of any knowledge 
at all. Hence the second period is that of skepticism. 
But skepticism itself is an impossible stopping-place. Its 
effect is to discourage every attempt at progress and even 

551 



552 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

every endeavor to take a serious part in life's battle. Man 
can never rest content in such a living death, and hence 
he must try to escape the doubt whence it comes. There- 
fore, we have, following doubt, a period of new beginnings, 
a period of reconstruction upon a deeper basis, or, as it is 
called, a period of criticism. 

In his work on Kant's Critical Philosophy Professor 
Caird gives us an admirable chapter on the Idea of Criti- 
cism. In it he writes the following description of the 
three periods : — 

" ' Dogmatism,' Kant declares, ' is the positive or dog- 
matic procedure of reason without previous criticism of its 
own faculty ; ' that is, it is a system which is produced in 
the direct effort to understand and interpret the world — 
the effort of a mind which is as yet troubled by no scru- 
ples as to its own competence, or as to the efficiency of 
the methods and the principles it uses. Such a mind, 
indeed, is generally unconscious of any method or principle 
whatever. It is too busy with its object to attend to itself. 
An early philosopher is described by Aristotle as looking 
up at the expanse of heaven, and declaring that ' all is 
one.' So by a direct effort of intuitive thought, the mind 
which as yet is troubled with no doubts as to the possibility 
of knowledge, seizes upon some general principle that 
seems to be as wide as the universe itself and uses it to 
explain, or to explain away, all appearances. Such im- 
mediate, unhesitating action of the intelligence does not 
of necessity fail of a good result. Na}-, it is to such action 
that man's first insight into the nature of things is always 
due. But it invariably, in the first instance at least, over- 
shoots its mark. Lighting up one aspect of things with 
the vividness of intuitive presentment, it leaves the other 
aspects in the shade. Grasping a principle of limited 
range, it applies that principle fearlessly to objects which 
it cannot explain, and which, therefore, it only serves to 
distort. . . . 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 553 

" The direct dogmatic or uncritical use of the under- 
standing is sure at some point to find itself checked and 
thwarted by the nature of things. For the simple princi- 
ples which first present themselves for the explanation of 
the world are necessarily imperfect and one-sided. If 
they explain phenomena, it is only within a limited range, 
and when they are extended beyond that range they come 
into contradiction with facts and even with themselves. 
The category which forms a sufficient guide so long as it 
is applied to the investigation of one definite part of the 
world or one definite phase of reality, is found inadequate 
when it is employed as a universal principle. Hence, one- 
sidedness here calls forth an opposite one-sided ness there, 
dogmatism is met by an opposite dogmatism, and in the in- 
terminable controversy which arises between the champions 
of apparently opposed but really complementary ideas, each 
finds that the sharp dialectic which he directs against his op- 
ponent is retorted upon himself. Besides, even apart from 
its being assailed in this way from without, a half-truth is its 
own Nemesis. A one-sided dogmatism has the opposite dog- 
matism latent in itself. It needs only to be developed and 
it destroys itself. A part setting itself up as a whole, an 
abstraction claiming to be a complete reality, is in contra- 
diction even with itself: and this contradiction in the end 
must be fatal to it. . . . 

" The first effect of the failure of Dogmatism is naturally 
the rise of scepticism. The conflict of opposite dogmas 
produces a sense of hopelessness, and even, it may be, a 
conviction that ' whatever can be asserted may with equal 
reason be denied.' Such scepticism may be of a deeper 
or of a shallower nature. It may be only that superficial 
doubt which is the result of observing many differences of 
opinion, and listening to much argument on either side. It 
may be the sophistic consciousness that a plausible case 
may be made out for anything or against anything. Or, 
finally, it may be the deeper scepticism of a reasoned 



554 INTKODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

despair of knowledge, arising out of the consciousness that 
every dogmatism has latent in it an opposite dogmatism, 
and that the contradiction which it encounters from its op- 
ponent is only the recoil of its own logic upon itself. . . . 

" If the first work of scepticism is to carry us beyond 
opposite dogmatisms, the last work is to disclose the basis 
of truth on which after all it, as well as they, must rest. 
But when it takes this last work in hand, it has ceased 
in the proper sense to be scepticism, and has become 
criticism. • 

" This last statement may be illustrated by a remarkable 
expression of Kant. ' Scepticism,' he says, ' would have 
been a useful regress, if it had gone back over the ground 
traversed by the dogmatists to the point where their wan- 
derings began.' Criticism is a deeper kind of scepticism, 
which does thus go back to the beginnings of our thought 
— or at least to a point logically prior to. that at which the 
opposite dogmatic systems diverge from each other — and 
so gets into the straight road again. In other words, its 
aim is to bring the controversy to an end by detecting its 
sources and presuppositions. For in every controversy 
there must be some ground common to the controversial- 
ists, little as they may recognize it themselves. If this 
were not so, assertion and denial, attack and defence, 
would be equally unmeaning. And the value of scepti- 
cism is just this that, while using the arguments of each of 
the parties to refute the other, it suggests that the ques- 
tion at issue has certain presuppositions without the exam- 
ination of which it cannot be decided. . . . 

" Criticism, then, in the highest sense of the word, 
essentially involves an effort to get beyond the sphere in 
which a controversy is carried on, and to throw new light 
upon it from a point of view which is above that of either 
of the disputants, though it is also a point of view which 
both of the disputants tacitly acknowledge. That is a true 
criticism which lifts a subject into the region of principle, 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 555 

and so frees it from the mere attack and rejoinder of 
ordinary controversy."' ^ 

It is this need to escape doubt, this need of criticism, in the 
that philosophy tries to meet. Thus the first great task ciyni^ation 
of philosophy is to do away with doubt, not by ignoring philosophy 
doubt as undeserving of respect, but by satisfying the ^orkof 
needs of the mind in which the doubt arises. Skepticism criticism, 
is due to the discovery of a contradiction within our 
interpretation of reality, a contradiction no deeper truth 
known at the time is able to reconcile. Philosophy is 
the search for this deeper or more universal truth that 
unknown to us lies behind, or is presupposed in, the 
narrower truths. Hence we may say that the first great 
value of philosophy is its inherent ability to do away with 
general skepticism. 

But philosophy has other meanings too. Philosophy has a H- The 

meaning and value for scie7ice. It is the ideal of science to philosophy 

work out the story of the universe in a rational system. Yet *^ Science. 

how can science ever attain to this ideal, or even approach it, in 

any given stage of her development, unless she be conscious 

of her principles and the elements involved in her work? (a) The 

But not to mention now this practical meaning of philoso- interest of 

phy to science, we should state first the true scientific science in 
1 , . T . . ,1 , • ■ • j_- j_ herprinci- 

value. As rational scientists, that is, as true scientists, pies. 
we must be interested in the presuppositions, the methods, 
the limits, and the aims of our science. We must be 
interested in the relation of our work to the whole work 
of the human mind as the interpreter of reality. If, as 
true scientists, we should search every corner of the 
universe to gain those facts which alone make our work 
of interpretation a possibility and give it trustworthiness, 
are we not also called upon to look within the very work 
of interpretation itself, to determine its character ? How 
irrational to seek for perfection in one part of our work 

1 Caird, Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. I, pp. 2-8. No one interested 
in philosophy should fail to read Professor Caird's whole chapter. 



556 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



(&) The 

practical 

interest. 



The danger 
of false 
premises. 



and to ignore another part wholly ! Surely the true 
scientific spirit demands that science's presuppositions, 
her methods, her character, and her relation to all other 
problems of life, be directly known and consciously taught. 
Otherwise we are in peril of being utterly false, yes, traitors, 
to science herself. 

But there is a practical interest for science as well as a 
theoretical. Whether we like it or not, you and I cannot 
interpret any part of this world without making pre- 
suppositions. It is a logical impossibility to draw a 
conclusion, to make an inference, without premises. There- 
fore, whether science wills it or not, science has to begin 
somewhere with premises and has to assume these premises. 
What follows ? We must do this either consciously or 
blindly. We must assume premises that are either true or 
false. Now the chances are that premises assumed blindly 
are, to some degree at least, false. 

If our ultimate premises are false, we are liable, and 
history shows over and over again that we are more 
than liable, to carry these errors throughout the whole 
course of our reasoning and to hinder indefinitely the 
success and progress of science. There is nothing con- 
cerning which scientists are more enthusiastic and more 
uncompromising in their demands than their methods of 
research and the general canons of science itself. Yet 
whence come these methods and whence the canons ? 
Somebody must have thought them out. They are not 
facts to be discovered but principles to be obtained by 
logical analysis. Now that very logical analysis is phi- 
losophy. Again, they are premises, necessary premises, 
necessary because science must have them or cease her 
work. These premises must be obtained by thought, 
must be clearly understood, must be harmonized the one 
with the other, must be tested in every way. This state- 
ment no scientist will for a moment do less than heartily 
uphold. Then why should he protest when he hears that 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 557 

the names of the sciences that do this work are metaphys- 
ics and theory of knowledge ? We do not mean that he 
is called upon to accept the views of any particular school 
of philosoph}^, for as a rational man he ought to deal 
critically with every doctrine. But we do mean that 
science should be critical with herself, and that the mo- 
ment that she is so the value of philosophical reflection is 
admitted. 

There is a further practical value to the scientist in the Each age 
study of ]3hilosophy. It is a psychological truth that man^^''^ 
knowledge never begins at the logical beginning and that iniierits 
your knowledge and mine began by jumping in medias res. funda- 
It is a law from which no man can escape, that each one of mental 

131*GluiSGS 

us is born into a given community, at a given time, during that should 

the prevalence of certain views of the world and of life. t)e critically 

studied. 
To our dymg day we shall never wholly escape these 

accidents of birth. We can alter them somewhat, and, if 

we are geniuses, a great deal even, but that is all. 

Now these accidents of birth and of early training have 

a tremendous influence upon all our later work in life. 

Are we then to let them go by unexamined ? Ought we 

not, for the practical effect it will have upon our work, to 

examine these accidents and their influence most critically? 

Doubtless in our particular field of specialization we shall 

do so anyway ; but should we do less in the more general 

field of life ? These more general prejudices exert a great 

influence on all that we do and therefore on our special 

calling. The history of science and the biography of every 

great man of scieiice shows clearly that this statement is 

true. The science of an age is the child of the age. The 

individual scientist may be beyond his day and generation 

in one or two matters, yet the greatest is saturated with 

the thought and life of his country and of his age. No 

sane historian or biographer would neglect this truth or 

fail to estimate for his reader its significance in the special 

problem under investigation. 



558 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

Every trea- But the casG Can be put even stronger. No scientific 
consdous^iy treatise or set of views can be written in total disregard 
or uncon- of the larger problems of science ; for every such work 

sciously on • t ■ -, n • 

general pre- presupposcs, consciously or unconsciousiy, a general view 

suppositions of the world and of life. Now if we demand of the 

be critically specialist the most critical and careful study of the evi- 

examined. Jence and methods by which he gets his results, why 

should we tolerate a total indifference on his part toward 

the general view of the world and of life presupposed in 

his work ? Clearly we should not ; and sooner or later, 

if the history of science is to be trusted, we will not. 

Sooner or later, if his work last, it will have to withstand 

not only the criticism of its more evident results but 

also the criticism of its deeper presuppositions. The 

forces that move here are mightier than any man or set 

of men ; and sooner or later the flood of a better and 

truer view of things will come and will sweep away 

our false prejudices and wrong presuppositions. 

Do you ask for any proof of all this ? One case belongs 
to our very nineteenth century, of which we are so proud, 
and worse than that, in one of the greatest and noblest of 
our special sciences, namely, biology. The whole doctrine 
of the special creation of species so widely held and taught 
up to recent days, as history counts time, was a barbarous 
piece of metaphysics. It denied the whole canon of 
causation, the very canon on which science is built ; and 
yet Europe's greatest scientists maintained it with all the 
ardor of the devotee. The law of causation declares that 
empirical facts alone are the conditions or causes of empiri- 
cal facts. Science, lacking a knowledge of such empirical 
conditions, sought for a cause in a transcendent world, a 
world totally beyond experience. Did ever metaphysics 
worse than this ? But what would happen to the scientist 
to-day that dared return to the older view ? Yet how 
many of us, how, in fact, do all of us, hold to views just 
as contradictory to the true spirit and canons of science 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 559 

without dreaming any more than did that older genera- 
tion of the absurdities of which we are guilty? 

But there are even worse absurdities to be noted. We, as Finally, 
scientists, start out to do something. To do what ? " Why, ^"^^^^o 
to know some field of facts or solve certain problems con- know better 
cerning these facts." But what are facts ? What is it to purpor.^""^ 
know facts ? What is it to explain ? What is it to solve a 
problem ? What is a problem anyway ? The scientist 
that dares neglect these ultimate questions is a man 
that starts out to do something, he knows not what. 
Could anything be more absurd ? Must not science, to be 
science, to take her own work seriously, know what she 
herself is, know what she is trying to do, become con- 
scious of her real goal, and know when she is wandering 
from her true path? Surely such knowledge, if it do 
nothing else, will save no end of time and utterly use- 
less controversy.. But to save time is to advance science 
farther in the days allotted us to live. To save time is to 
hand on to those who come after a more precious scientific 
heritage. Philosophy, then, is not merely of theoretical 
interest to science but of decidedly practical value. 

But there is a third meaning and value of philosophy, iii. The 
Since the thirteenth centurj'- a controversy has been tak- pj^^J^gQ^^^ 
ing place between science and the leaders of religion. We in the con- 
have already discussed its character and significance in our between 
critique of religion. We showed that the struggle has Sder.ceon 
right on both sides. Science need not feel that she has and Religion 
an easy victory to win over religion. She need not feel that ^^^ ^°- , 

,... ... T p-ir ralityonthe 

religion is an anachronism that will m time die out of itself, other. 
Surely there is very little evidence to-day of any such 
thing happening ; for science cannot even boast that she 
has taught her lessons so well to the world that supersti- 
tion and the liability to be deceived by the first man with 
a ready tongue and a good supply of high-sounding non- 
sense have been removed from the midst of us. To-day 
we see thousands and tens of thousands desert the flag 



560 INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 

of science and follow the charlatan, the inventor of new 
fads and religions, all as though we were in the ages 
thought long passed away instead of in the glorious 
twentieth century. Science can call them fools, and 
perhaps they are fools ; but in this world calling names 
has done very little good, and science should Icnow it 
by this time. You and I cannot depend upon men being 
rational ; but you and I do depend and have to depend 
upon men. We cannot ignore them and say, if they will 
be fools let them be so. You and I cannot withdraw from 
the social and political world and have our own little king- 
dom by ourselves, where rationality will be synonymous 
with citizenship and sainthood. We are part of the world 
and will have to remain so. 

Now there is one truth about our brother man that you 
can ignore, if you will, but that you cannot deny. He is 
religious. He demands an answer to life's problems which 
science will never give him ; and what is more, he will get 
what he wants, be it bad or good. Therefore it belongs to 
our leaders to help see that what he gets is good. What, 
then, must we do ? One thing surely — we must seek for a 
reconciliation between two foes that can never overthrow 
one another, two foes that have a right to be, and will ever be, 
as long as man is man. The controversy between the two 
for man's own welfare must stop, and each must grant the 
other its true jurisdiction. Each must do its work in 
harmony and sympathy with the other, for the two are not 
by right enemies, they are brothers ; and the warfare 
between them is a crying sin, a sin against our civilization, 
and a sin against everything a true man holds dear. Shame, 
then, on those who are unwilling to have the questions at 
issue submitted to a just, a thorough, and a critical court of 
arbitration. "What is that court?" Our answer is philos- 
ophy. " Is that court just ? " You yourself can be a 
member of it if you will. All you have to do is to become 
yourself truly a student of the problem. " Is that court 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 561 

critical?" That depends upon its members, and you or 
any other man or woman may be a member if you will. 
Of course, like any other branch of science, it needs the 
devotion of a lifetime to master it. Yet there is no reason 
why we should not become acquainted with it, why it 
should not be the common field or forum, where all special- 
ists can meet and try to understand one another and one 
another's life. We can become well enough acquainted 
with it, even though we are specialists in other fields, to 
know fairly well whom we may trust if we have to depend 
upon another's authority. 

But there is still a fourth and final meaning and value iv. The 
to be found in philosophy, that is, its meaning and "value p]^oosophy 
to the individual man. to the 

Our lives in tlieorii and in practice are an interpretation 

^ -^ Our hves an 

of reality. What we know and what we do and what we interpre- 
feel make up our life. To know more perfectly and *^*|j^ °* 
rationally, to will more consistently, to feel more harmo- 
niously, is, after all, nothing less than living a fuller and 
richer life and is nothing less than the highest self-realiza- 
tion. If the noblest selfhood be the true goal of life, then The need to 
we have, each one of us, the task of bringing complete pi^u^ipiJs of 
consistency or harmony more and more into each and every our lives. 
part of our lives and, above all, into life as a whole. 

In this respect, we live in a day famous for its super- 
ficiality. We are all too busy to lead large and full 
lives, for each has to be a specialist and to ignore the rest 
of life to a far too great extent. Specialization may make 
us expert in one field, yet let us not forget that it may 
make us superficial and even wholly ignorant in many 
other fields. Now those other fields belong just as truly to 
life as does that in which we are masters. In commerce, in 
industrial life, in professional life, in science, and in art, 
and in religion too, there is everywhere the same danger, 
over-specialization. What is the specialty good for if life 
is to be merely a specialty ? Who is to enjoy the product of 
2o 



562 



INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY 



V. The 

Meaning of 
Philosophy 
to Society. 



our labor if each one is to live unto himself ? Is the only- 
good to be obtained from our modern civilization and high 
social development simply this, — to fix things so that other 
people will let us alone, so that each may do what he wills 
in perfect peace so long as he does not interfere with liLs 
neighbor? If this is our modern ideal of life, then its 
logical outcome is the life of the hermit. 

No, we are members one of another, and no man can 
live merely unto himself. There is no room in this world 
for the mere specialist. Such a man is a slave, a mere 
piece of property, and is not truly a member of society. 
He is of use to us as are our cattle, but he himself fails to 
share in the larger life to which his labor contributes, ex- 
cept, perhaps, to gain from it, along with our horses, his 
food and shelter. No one of us really can live such a life. 
We are too human. No one can really be satisfied with 
such an existence. We have too many good instincts 
implanted in us which must be satisfied, or life would be a 
failure. The truest, the happiest, the only satisfying life, 
is that noblest selfhood that seeks self-realization in the 
service of all and in the sharing- with all. That larger life 
must then be our ideal. If so, we must gain its principles. 
We must share with fellow-man those universal truths on 
which we one and all are building. Nothing less than 
these, nothing less deep and fundamental, can ever form 
the permanent basis of universal friendship. 

From yet another point of view our lives need this shar- 
ing in others' lives. You and I do not work our best 
alone, for we need encouragement, we need to share our 
success, we need the fellow-feeling, the sympathy, the 
friendship, that add so much to our ability to excel. The 
individual that leads the hermit life, or the nation that is 
composed merely of these individuals, lacks those deep 
aspirations and convictions which make the greatest lives 
and the greatest movements in history. Woe betide the 
nation lacking these ideals, for every great nation must be 



THE MEANING AND VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY 663 

united and have great common aspirations. To lose them 
means the old age and coming decadence of national life. 
But truly to have convictions and to have them in com- 
mon, needs a removal of skepticism, needs a critical ground- 
work, needs a forum of mental life, where we can meet and 
understand one another and gain convictions widely ac- 
cepted and of more than a moment's duration. 

Now the deeper we go, and the stronger our ultimate 
foundations are, the surer shall we build, and the longer 
will our structure last. But this very work of gaining such 
a foundation is the task of philosophy. To change our 
figure, philosophy meets life at each and every turning of 
the way. Go where you will, think what you will, feel 
what you will, do what you will, you never will get be- 
yond the need that philosophy tries to meet. Her work 
is as universal as man, is as catholic as life. 

Yet a word of warning and an admission must be added 
to what we have said. Philosophy is not life, philosophy But phiios- 
is only a means to a higher and better life. No one should ^.?-'^^.!®.'^^* 

•^ _ ° life, It IS 

expect more from it, no one should make it his all. The only a 
great work of this world is not done by philosophy but by ^^^^ e o i e, 
the individual acts of each individual life, for life is not 
made up of universal principles but of particular acts. 
These particular acts, be they the planting of corn, the 
running of a locomotive, the presiding at a directors' meet- 
ing, the finding of a new drug, the inventing of a new 
machine, the discovery of a new fact or truth, the bringing 
into the world of a new life, the training of the young, the 
caring for the sick and needy, the uplifting of man's ideals 
and aspirations, the giving of new hope, and the lessening 
of sorrow, — these alone are life, and these are not philoso- 
phy. They need her guidance at every turning of the way; 
but they, and they alone are life. Thus has philosophy, 
like everything else, a meaning and a value only in terms 
of its contribution to life. Life and its self-realization 
alone are of value in and for themselves. 



INDEX 



Absolute, The : as a principle of real- 
ity, 431. 
its knowability, 431 ff. 
Abstract, The : danger of identifying 
it with the concrete, 38 ff., 62, 
72 f., 97 f. 
Esthetics, 511 ff. 
its definition, 536. 
its problems, 511 ff. 
Anthropomorphism. See Teleology. 
Apprehension, Simple. See Intuition. 
A posteriori, 109 f . 

A priori, meaning of the term, 91 f., 
109 ff. 
no fundamental difference between 

it and a posteriori, 119. 
relation to probability, 111 ff., 
116 ff. 
Atom, an abstraction, 72 ff. 

as an instrument of interpretation, 

65 f. 
nature of the ultimate, 67 f., 69. 
Atomism, 243 ff. 

that of science only relative, 259 f. 
Atoms, basis of interpretation of mind, 
174 f. 
nature not composed merely of, 70 f . 
their substantiality, 215 f. 
Attraction, not an ultimate explana- 
tion of the transference of mo- 
tion, 80 ff. 



Beautiful, The : its nature, 511 ff . 

its objectivity, 516 f. 
Berkeley, 196 ff. 



Causal relation between mind and 

body, 274 ff. 
Causation, 264 ff., 273, 396 ff. 

and creation, 302. 

as a universal system, 262 f., 268 ff. 

involves a law of repetition, 266 f. 



, mental, 151 ff., 162 ff. 

no complete repetition in causal 
system, 267 f., nor in parts of it, 
268 f. 
reads backward as well as forward, 

271 f. 
the infinite complexity of the con- 
crete caiise, 264 ff. 
the law of causation an a priori 

principle, 396 ff., 423 f. 
universal causal interaction, 217 ff. 
Change, an ultimate element of real- 
ity, 253 f . 
as a principle of reality, 426. 
See Atom, Creation, Interaction, 
Pluralism, and Singularism. 
Collision, the condition of the trans- 
ference of motion, 81 f. 
Conservation, Mental, 158 ff. 
Conservation of Energy, an a priori 
principle, 88 ff. 
its so-called inductive proof, 92 f . 
means relative conservation, 86 f. 
potential energy and the principle 
of, 90 f. 
Consistency, as a criterion of truth, 

1 ff., .378. 
Continuity, of nature, 151 ff. 

its absence in the mental world, 
153 ff. 
Cosmogony, its definition, 183, 291. 

its problems, 291 f . 
Cosmology, 217 ff. 
Creation, 292 ff., 320 ff. 

as a doctrine of theism, 295. 
created cannot be deduced from 

creator, 300 ft', 
equals change, 297 f. 
its definition, 182. 
manner of, 299 ff. 
not a beginning in time, 295 f. 
one with the problem of causation, 

302. 
its mythological form, 292 ff. 



569 



570 



INDEX 



its problems, 182 f., 217 ff. 
See Evolution and Teleology. 
Criticism, The Idea of, 511 ff. 

Death, Problem of, 469 ff. 

See Immortality. 
Difference. See Likeness. 
Divisibility, limitless, 65, (19. 

of all things into parts, 64. 
Division, as an instrument of explana- 
tion, 65 f. 

its limits as such instrument, 67 f. 
Dualism, 208 ff. 

a primitive theory, 187 ff. 
Dynamical Theory, 95 ff . 

its reconciliation with the mechani- 
cal theory of nature, 97 f. 

Empiricism, 395 ff. 

criticism of, 396 ff. 
Epistemology. See Theory of Knowl- 
edge. 
Ethics, and cosmology, 225 ff., 235 ff. 

its definition and problems, 489 ff., 
536. 
Evil, Problem of, 473 ff. 
Evolution, 303 ff. 

and special creation, 318. 

and the secondary qualities, 317. 

criticism of Spencer's theory of, 
316 ff. 

not a law of world-change, 303 f. 

of mind, 317. 

Spencer's theory of, 305 ff. 

the principles of, 318 f . 
Existence, meaning of term, 410 f. 

Freedom of the Will, 162 ff . 

and moral responsibility, 502 ff. 
Future, The: as a principle of reality, 
427. 

knowledge of, 366 ff., 390 ff. 

Given, The, 349 ff., 364 ff., 522 ff. 

always factual, 350 ff . 

as present consciousness, 366 ff., 
413 f . 

its determination, 412 ff. 

the foundation of proof, 355 ff. 

the subject of all predication, 418 f. 

the summum genus, 416 ff. 
God, as the universal mind, 434 ff. 

conceptions of, 459. 

the belief in God as a principle of 
religion, 458 ff. 



See Creator and Substance. 
Good, The : its nature, 491 ff. 

Hedonism, 493 ff. 
Hylozoism, 190. 

Ideal, The, 439 ff. 

as knowledge, 441 ff. 
its nature, 439 ff., 445 f . 
its principles, 447 f. 
its validity, 446 ff. 
vagueness of, 514 ff. 
Idealism, 403 ff., 408 ff. 
Immortality, 4(i9 ff. 

a problem, not of philosophy, but 

of empirical science, 149 f. 
insufficient proofs of, 141 ff. 
what would constitute a scientific 
proof of, 139 ff., 145 ff. 
Infinite, The : as a principle of reality, 
432 f . 
its knowability, 432 f. 
Infinity, 105 f. 

Interaction, between mind and body, 
274 ff. 
Lotze's disproof of, 248 ff. 
Intuition, 3.58 ff., 522 ff. 

not a psychological but an episte- 
mological term, 362. 

Knowledge, a process of analysis and 
synthesis, 28 f. 

can always be transformed into 
judgments, 344 ff. 

classification of, 529 ff. 

how possible when its object is in- 
finite, 27 f . 

its definition and nature, 374 ff. 

its elements, 347 ff. 

its infinitude, 377 ff., 386 ff. 

its object. See The Given. 

its relativity, 86 f., 374 ff., 382 ff. 

its relativity and validity, 384 f. 

its validity as an axiom, 391 ff. 

results in a graded classification of 
objects, .32 f. 

the principles of, 378 f . 

the transcendent element in 
knowledge and its validity, 
390 ff. 

Likeness, as a principle of reality, 
427 f. 
See Knowledge. 
i Logic, 536. 



INDEX 



571 



Lotze, his disproof of interaction, 248 ff. 

Materialism, and religion, 194. 

a primitive view of the world, 185 f . 
criticism of, 192 ff. 
origin of, 184 f . 

primitive materialism hylozoistic, 
190. 
Mathematics, as most general science, 
107 ff. 
as science a priori, 107 ff. 
Matter, as a mere abstraction, 62, 97 f . 

as a substance, 60 f. 
Mechanical Theory, 94 ff., 118. 

its reconciliation with the dynami- 
cal theory of nature, 97 f. 
Mechanics, as most general science, 
107 ff. 
as science a priori, 107 ff. 
Metaphysics, its definition, 536. 

precedes the theory of knowledge, 
544 f. 
Mind, apprehended only by the one 
self, 128 ff., 135 f. 
its distinction from the material, 

125 ff., 133. 
non-spatial, 129 ff. 
the physical as the basis of its inter- 
pretation, 156 f. 
Mind and Body, their causal relation, 

274 ff. 
Minds of others, known by analogy, 
125ff.,134ff., 143 ff. 
ultimate facts referred to by the 
term, 136 f. 
Monadology, 245 f . 
Moral Responsibility, 502 ff. 
See Freedom of the Will. 
Motion, an abstraction, 79. 
transference of, 80 ff., 83 f. 
See Interaction. 

Naturalism, 443 f . 

its tendency to identify reality and 
abstractions, 121. 
Necessity, meaning of the term, 300 f . 

Object, as a principle of reality, 429 f . 

of knowledge. See The Given. 
Occasionalism, 246 ff. 
Ontology, its definition, 180 f. 

its origin, 184 f. 

its problems, 181 f . 

Panpsychism, 158, 280 ff. 



a scientific not a philosophical 

problem, 289. 
criticism of, 287 f. 
Parallelism, 274 ff. 
Past, The : as a principle of reality, 427. 

knowledge of, 366 ff. 
Perfectionism, 496 ff. 
Permanent, The. See Change. 
Personal identity, 167 ff. 
Pessimism, 458 ff., 468 ff., 498 f. 
Philosopher, a thinker rather than an 

observer, 5, 9 f. 
Philosophy, as a science, 521 f. 
disrepute of , 2 ff. 
historical development of, 538 ff. 
its analogy to all types of organiza- 
tion, 3 ff. 
its definition, 1, 6 ff., 521 ff. 
its disciplines, 534 ff. 
its meaning and value, 551 ff. 
its method, 548 ff. 
its relation to the other sciences, 

529 ff., 555 ff. 
its scope, 528 ff. 
Physics, as a universal natural science, 
37, 94 ff. 
forms the basis of interpretation of 

mind, 156 f., 174 f. 
movement of the sciences toward, 
50. 
Pluralism, 221 f., 235 ff., 256 ff. 
and religion, 235 ff. 
atheistic, 227 f . 
dualistic, 231. 

its failure to explam change, 248 ff. 
its real problem is that of change, 

240 ff. 
its varieties, 222 ff. 
materialistic, 230 f. 
spiritualistic, 231. 
theistic, 225ff.,237ff. 
Preestablished Harmony, 246 f. 
Primary Qualities, The: the terms 
in which all objects of nature 
become comparable, 47 f . 
the universal and permanent ones, 
43 f. 
Probability, its nature, 116 ff. 
Psychology, and philosophy, 528. 
critique of, 174 ff . 

the ideal psychology physiological, 
176 f. 

Qualities, their division into primary 
and secondary, 38 ff . 



572 



INDEX 



basis of this division, 41 ff. 
justification of tliis division, 47 ff. 

Rationalism, 395 ft. 

Real, The : and the ideal, 439 ff. 

Realism, 403 ff . 

its sources, 405 ff. 
criticism of, 407 ff. 
Reality, as the Universal Mind, 434 ff. 
the principles of, 420 ff . 
See Existence, The Given, Realism, 
and Idealism. 
Redemption, as a principle of religion, 

476 f. 
Relative, The. See Knowledge and 

Absolute. 
Religion, and cosmology, 225 ff., 235 ff. 
and science, 478 ff. 
critique of, 478 ff. 
field of, 478 ff. 
its differentiation from morality 

and art, 457 f. 
its differentiation from science, 

456 f. 
its nature, 451 ff. 
its object, 452 ff. 
its principles, 458 ff., 467 ff. 
Religion, The Philosophy of : its defini- 
tion, 536. 
its problems, 458 ff. 
Repetition, Law of : 266 f., 424 f . 
See Causation. 

Science, a critique of natural, 120 ff. 
classification of, 529 ff., 537. 
seeks the general, 41 f. 
Sciences, The: their classification ac- 
cording to the universality of 
the objects interpreted, 36 f. 
their difference in generality, 107 f . 
their movement toward physics, 50. 
Secondary Qualities, The: the proof 
of their reality, 40 ff., 45 f. 
the question of their reality, 38 ff . 
their place as elements to be inter- 
preted, 52 f. 
their reduction to the primary does 
not mean identification, 52. 
Sin, Problem of, 475 ff. 
Singularism, 217 ff., 232 ff., 255 ff. 
Skepticism, 391 ff. 
religious, 460 ff. 
Soul, 164 ff. 



its substantiality, 166 ff., 215. 

thingness as asserted of, 166 ff. 
Space, its phenomenality, 99. 

conceptual, 99. 

empty space a mere abstraction, 
101 f. 

is it a concept? 100. 

its genesis not a philosophical prob- 
lem, 100. 
Spencer,liis theory of evolution, 305 ff. 
Spiritualism, criticism of the Berke- 
leyan, 201 ff . 

that of Berkeley, 196 ff . 

two types of, 195 f ., 203 ff. 
Subject, 429 f. 

See Object. 
Substance, 59 ff., 210 f. 

and thing, 212 ff. 

not a remainder left after abstrac- 
tion of qualities, 210 ff. 

of the soul, 163 ff. 

the things claiming to be, 215 f. 
Supernatural, The : 452 ff., 483 f . 

See Religion. 

Teleology, 320 f. 

theism's appeal to, 228 ff., 320 ff. 
Theory of Knowledge, its definition, 
535 f. 

its problems, 337 ff. 
Thing, and substantiality, 212 ff. 

implies independent existence, 57 f . 

implies substantiality, 59 f . 

the soul as a, 166 ff. 
Time, 99 ff. 

See Space. 
Transcendent World, The: 403 ff. 

See Realism and Idealism. 

Voluntarism, 203 ff., 332 f., 439 ff. 

World , The : as the Universal Mind, 

434 ff. 
growth of our conception of, 15 ff. 
its infinite diversity, 22 ff. 
its infinitude, 20 ff., 104 f. 
its manifold interpretation, 439 ff. 
its unity, 264 f ., 268 f. 
the spontaneity of its changes, 

203 ff. 
See The Given, Realism, Idealism, 

The Principles of Reality, and 

Voluntarism. 



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